


Tell Me Your Secrets and I’ll Love You Either Way

by BeExcellent



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak, Adult Richie Tozier, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Dreams and Nightmares, Friends to Lovers, Gay Richie Tozier, IT Chapter Two Fix-It, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier Sees Eddie Kaspbrak's Death in the Deadlights, Richie Tozier in the Deadlights, Richie Tozier is a Mess, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 20:54:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29598597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeExcellent/pseuds/BeExcellent
Summary: Richie Tozier needs to get his shit together. It’s just hard when Eddie (the love of his life) is not only ignoring him, but the rest of the Losers as well, the Losers (his long lost best friends) seem to all know something Richie doesn’t, and each night his nightmares are worse than the last.
Relationships: Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Steve Covall & Richie Tozier
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	1. Melancholy Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

> This starts off a little rough, there’s a lot of drinking and some crying and shit, but it’s not gonna be too long. I hope you like it! And even if you don’t, I’d love to hear your thoughts.

"Damn. You look like shit." Beverly took a long drag from her cigarette, which Richie gratefully plucked out of her two fingers when she offered it. He took a moment to notice how small her hand looked next to his before taking a drag of his own. 

"You're one to talk." He mumbled, watching the smoke he breathed dissipate in the air before him. 

"Nah, I mean you look really fucking rough. Everything okay?" She asked softly, taking the cigarette back without asking. Richie shrugged and leaned his forearms against the splintered wood that attempted to excuse itself as a guardrail. They were on the deck of the Townhouse that faced the back, looking out on the pathetic yard that looked like it needed some serious TLC. The sun burned low in the sky, causing brilliant oranges and yellows to highlight the clouds and landscape. 

"Why do you ask questions you already know the answers to, Bevvy." Richie stated, motioning for the cigarette and shutting his eyes on the inhale, wanting the almost-burning feeling in his throat and chest to erase the fact that he felt as much like shit as he looked. He handed the cigarette back and returned to deep thought, worries and insecurities and assumptions that he knew were idiotic tearing through his mind. Curiously, he looked over at the redhead, who seemed just as deep in thought as him. She looked like she had something she wanted to tell him. Something she knew that he didn't. He’d been getting the vibe ever since the Losers left the cistern and bathed in the quarry. Even from Eddie, though only a little. He found it hard to believe that Eddie would keep something big from him after everything they’d been through together. A new question floated to the surface of Richie’s mind, one that he'd had before. "Hey Bev?" He asked, his voice coaxing her into eye contact.

"Yeah, Rich?" She held his gaze. 

"Do...do you think if I wasn't...if you never had a thing for Bill-slash-Ben when we were kids...do you think we might have ended up something?" He asked sheepishly. Bev handed him the cigarette.

"Maybe. You mean if you hadn't been in love with Eddie?" She asked pointedly. Richie choked on the drag and handed the cigarette back, coughing into his elbow. When he finally regained his breath, he went back to looking at the sparse yard. 

"I wasn't in love with Eddie." He stated. Then, quieter, "I didn't even know what love was." Bev dropped the spent cigarette and crushed it with the heel of one of her very expensive looking boots. She still seemed to hold some secret knowledge that Richie was deprived of. He was starting to hate the feeling. 

"You don't have to know what love is to be in it, Richie." She said, always having been wise beyond her years. Richie didn't reply, but he knew that Bev knew that he knew that she was right. She was always right about shit like this. "So if I hadn't been with Bill and if Ben wasn't my soulmate and if you weren't gay, would we have ended up together, is what you're asking?" She recounted blandly. Richie gave a small huff. Soulmate. He didn't really believe in the concept, but if any couple were to have soulmate capabilities, it was Beverly and Ben. She definitely seemed to like the term. 

"Yeah. That's what I'm asking." He mumbled, going from the leaning position to an awkward hands-in-his-jacket-pockets-while-standing-aimlessly position. Beverly looked over at him and shrugged. 

"Maybe. Probably. I liked you sometimes. In a more than friends way, I mean. You were the only boy that didn't seem like he was drooling over me every chance he got and you always...you were always honest." She said quietly. 

"Is that why on prom night..." Richie trailed off, not needing to say the memory out loud for Bev to be reminded of it. 

"Yeah. I'm glad you stopped it though. It wasn't...it wasn't right for us. Even if you weren't gay." She said with a strangely sympathetic look. Richie nodded and shuffled his feet. 

"I'm really not in love with Eddie, you know. I know you think it, but I'm...I'm not. I wasn't, I mean. I wasn't and I'm not." He said sheepishly, voice low. Bev smiled like she knew he was lying. She probably did. But Richie was feeling a lot of very intense emotions at the moment and he was too damn tired to care. He felt a sudden surge of heavy anguish, something he'd gotten used to in the past six hours. He pushed his glasses up and used the heels of his palms to try to stay his tears. He felt Bev's hand on his wrist and put his glasses back down, attempting a smile. 

"It's okay, honey, he's alive. You saved him, don't worry." She offered consolingly. Richie nodded and cleared his throat, trying to beat it into his brain that Bev was right, Eddie was okay, Eddie was alive, Eddie was safe. 

"I just...fuck, I keep seeing it Beverly. Over and over, every single time I close my eyes for more than two fucking seconds. Christ, how the fuck did you do this when you were thirteen?" He asked, breath uneven. "And with six people, holy shit. Bev you...never cease to amaze me." He punctuated, almost letting out a hysterical laugh that was threatening to bubble up. Bev snorted. 

"That's one way to put it. I'm glad my ability to bottle shit up and ignore my feelings because it’s what’s expected of me impresses you, a real self-esteem booster." She said dryly. Richie made a noise of acknowledgement and went back to leaning on the wooden post fence. After a few beats, he reached over and laced his fingers with hers. His hand really was huge compared to hers, but he would never dare to call Bev's dainty. Bev couldn't be further from dainty. Bev was the strongest person Richie knew. "I'm sorry." She whispered, looking at him with something adjacent to sadness. Bittersweet. Melancholy. "The truth is I didn't handle it. I was all kinds of fucked up, Richie. Not just 'cause of that, obviously, but it had a big hand. Why do you think I tried to get with a guy I knew was incapable of giving me what I wanted?" She asked. Richie looked at her with an aching feeling in his chest. 

"For the record, I would've totally gone through with it if I hadn't had the Ultimate Breakdown of the Century." He said, attempting slight humor. Bev gave a pity laugh. 

"You know, that's when I realized it. That you didn't like girls." She drew her eyebrows together and seemed to realize something. "You ask how I put up with it...how did you put up with that?" She asked rhetorically. Richie nodded with a hum, looking back to the setting sun. 

"No wonder we ended up bonding so well. Shared trauma, woo." He said unenthusiastically with a little fist pump, getting a genuine chuckle from Bev this time. They stayed silent for a moment until Richie could no longer keep the question that had been eating away at his very soul for the past two hours hidden. "I just...why did he have to leave like that?" He nearly pleaded. Bev looked at him sadly and adjusted the collar of his jacket, unclasping their joined hands. "I mean. He barely said goodbye. I figured we'd at least have some time to talk about," he waved his hand vaguely in the air, "all the shit. But he just fuckin' up and left like he had better things to do. Which like, yeah, obviously I don't want to talk about it either, but I just...I dunno, I thought maybe he'd want to spend a little more time with me—us. With us. 'Cause like, God knows when we'll see each other again, you know? And I didn't even get his fucking number, so I don't even know how that would work." Richie groaned and fluffed the back of his hair restlessly. "Who am I kidding, I don't blame him. I'd wanna get out of this shithole ASAP too. Still do. Why am I here again?" He asked, receiving a small smile and a nudge. 

"Don't worry, they said your car would be ready by..." Bev checked her watch with an optimistic look. "In fifteen minutes." She started to head back into the Townhouse without making sure Richie followed. He did, but part of him wanted to stay out on the patio and wait until the sun went down completely. Maybe the night could swallow him whole and he wouldn't have to deal with emotions and Eddie Kaspbrak and the L word and all that shit. But he followed Beverly into the Townhouse and let go of any chance he had of being sucked into the abyss and lost forever. Whiskey would have to do. Richie felt like his brain was trying to pound its way out of his skull. Bev gave him a pitying look when he downed the glass in one gulp, not drinking for the taste but to give himself the chance to, if he drank enough, create worse problems than the ones he was dealing with now, which meant he'd have to focus on those problems instead of whatever the fuck he was going through. He was not in love with Eddie. Richie poured another drink and finished it with the same vigor as the first, slamming the glass down a little harder than necessary. He was not in love with Eddie. He let the minutes pass by, ignoring Bev's attempts to get him to actually pay attention to his surroundings instead of just spacing out every few minutes. 

"Hey," she said softly, finally getting him to look at her. "It's going to be okay Richie. You're going to be okay. And Eddie. Whether you love him or not, I know you care for him, but you can't let that turn into worry. You live your life and let him live his. Who knows, maybe one day they'll become one and the same. But for now you gotta figure out your own shit and not stress about if and when he figures out his. You said it yourself, he’s braver than he thinks. He’s gonna be fine." She looked at him knowingly, lips settled in a half smile. Richie looked back at her and nodded. 

"Thanks Bevvy. I kinda checked out for half of that but you sounded very wise." He eventually replied, cracking a smile when she fake-punched him in the arm with a chuckle. He still couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't telling him something. Something important. Reluctantly, he tucked his suspicions away and picked up his car from the less-than-adequate local mechanic. Of course the day he fought and helped kill a sewer clown from hell (or space or whatever, Richie didn't care where Pennywise came from, he just knew he hated the bastard) was the day his car decided it needed a tune up and an oil change. He got out of Derry as fast as he possibly could, giving goodbyes almost as quick as Eddie had, and tried to ignore the feeling that it wasn't just Bev that was keeping a secret from him, but the rest of the Losers too. They all seemed to share the same knowing glances, the same tense movements, the same damn _secret_ and it made Richie want to drive all the way to his apartment in New York without stopping. He nearly did, all the rest stops he had taken only lasting two minutes max. It was like he thought that if he didn't stop, he wouldn't think. Just keep moving forward, forward, driving into the sky on the horizon. Not thinking. But who was he kidding, he was thinking. He was thinking more things in every passing second than some people thought in an hour. What he was thinking the most was that he was not in love with Eddie. What he probably should have been thinking about was how he was going to clean up the wild fire of rumors that were bound to spread because of his three day getaway in the middle of his fucking tour. But in his head was mostly Eddie. All different kinds of Eddie. Eddie getting skewered by a long, clawed clown arm, Eddie's hand in his as he struggled to win an arm wrestle that Richie was surprisingly confident in winning, but still letting Eddie think he had a chance, Eddie drunkenly growling "let's take our shirts off and kiss", Eddie looking up at him and saying in a voice too soft for a forty year old man as feisty as him "thanks, Rich." 

Richie wanted to touch Eddie. He wanted to hold his hand and ruffle his hair and hug him from behind on a tired autumn morning. He wanted to taste him. Angrily, Richie thumped the steering wheel, unsure of what to do. He was almost at his apartment, but he was so, so tired. If he kept going, stayed awake, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about Eddie. If he stopped to rest his eyes, he risked falling asleep, and he was afraid of where his subconscious would take him without his permission. He was close to his apartment anyway, so he decided to trudge on no matter how heavy his eyelids were beginning to feel. He was not in love with Eddie. Once in his bedroom, he fell onto the bed without changing his clothes. He was not in love with Eddie. As Richie quickly descended into treacherous, deep sleep, that's what he told himself. He was not in love with Eddie. Sometimes Richie's ability to bullshit his way through life astounded even him, because the fact of the matter was that he was in love with Eddie and had been for a really long time. It had always been Eddie. 

Shit.


	2. Most Bad Things Come In Nice Packages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot of swearing in this whole thing, if you haven’t noticed, but I figured I’d make a disclaimer about it anyway lol. I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think (if you want) :D

Richie had thought, stupidly, that after the defeat of Pennywise the nightmares would stop. But no, of course not. Of course even at night he'd be forced to see Eddie dying over and over again in a thousand different ways, each one more horrible than the last. Richie didn't know what he had expected. Stupid. It hadn't started out so bad, but in his adulthood Richie had realized that most bad things come in nice packages. Distantly, Richie thought of the young man that had handed him his obituary in his encounter with Pennywise. His mauled face and charming voice. _Canal Days Festival, closing performances tonight. See you there, handsome._

It had been nice, the start of the dream. Nightmare, whatever. Richie had been in his apartment, but it _wasn't_ his apartment. It was Eddie's. Richie didn't know if Eddie lived in an apartment in real life, but in the dream he did. It didn't look all too different from Richie's apartment, maybe a little more tidy, different color scheme, hence why he had thought it was his at first. They had been there together, simply sitting on the couch or lounging in the kitchen, something couple-y, before it had turned into a proper nightmare. Eddie had said something important, sweet, a little whisper, a secret, and suddenly he was being taken away from Richie. Taken from him by the clown, by Eddie's mother, Henry Bowers, the fucked up obituary guy, the girl from the pharmacy that always used to taunt Eddie and wrote LOSER on his cast. Eddie would disappear again and again until he wasn't just disappearing, he was dying, being killed and re-killed by all of the people that wanted Richie to hurt simply because of who he was. 

So yeah, the nightmares hadn't stopped. 

Richie was pretty sure that it wasn't going to be a one night thing, too. But he could handle it. It wasn't like he hadn't had nightmares most nights than not for the past 27 years anyway. Plus, he had bigger things to worry about, like the loud knock at his door that woke him up at 7:30 in the morning, followed by the voice of his manager. His manager who did _not_ sound happy. Going as slow as possible, he let Steve in, groaning when he saw the look on the smaller man's face. 

“Please, come in.” He mumbled tiredly when Steve forced his way in without asking. For a moment, they just stood in Richie’s living room, Steve looking exasperated and Richie feeling dead on his feet, before the manager spoke up. 

“Okay, I can’t even—Richie, I just, I can’t wrap my head around this. First of all, what the _fuck_ were you thinking, and second of all, _what the fuck were you thinking_. Richie do you even, fuck, can you even comprehend how much you’ve screwed up in the past three days?” He jabbed, huffing a breath and pinching the bridge of his nose. Richie blinked slowly, thinking of Eddie. It had become painfully clear how much his manager and his childhood best friend were alike. Steve just didn’t have Eddie’s...je ne sais quois. The stressed manager continued before Richie could reply. “I mean, what even were you doing, Rich? What was so important that you had to drive to nowhere Maine in the middle of a fucking tour, stay there for three days, and completely fall off the grid while you were at it. Do you have any idea how much I called you? Jesus Christ, Richie, what happened?” He seemed to calm down a little, but the tension in the air was still as palpable as ever. Richie just wanted to sleep. Preferably for the next thousand years. 

“I—a bunch happened. I don’t really know what you want me to tell you. It was just stuff. Personal shit, whatever. It’s over now.” He replied, running a hand over his face. Steve looked at him like he was stupid. He knew that that wasn’t really how Steve felt, but it still sparked some offense in a distant part of his mind. 

“It’s _over_ now? Richie, it couldn’t be fucking farther from over. Your _actions_ have _consequences._ I thought you of all people would know that. ‘Personal shit’ doesn’t cut it. Now tell me what happened in Maine so I can help you not look like you’ve completely given up, people are already saying it’s drugs.” If he listened close enough, Richie thought that Steve sounded genuinely concerned. He fluffed the back of his uncombed hair with one hand. A part of him wanted to tell the truth just to see what would happen. It would probably make Steve say it was drugs too. 

“I uh. I got a call from a friend. From when I was a kid, childhood friend, and I just…he reminded me of a lot of unresolved shit, loose ends or whatever, that I had to tie up in my hometown. If I didn’t do it now, it would never get done. Look, I’m sorry. Really, I know it was fucked up, but I couldn’t—I just—my friends needed me. I needed them.” He tried to explain to the best of his ability. _Losers stick together._ Steve’s eyes softened. 

“Okay. Okay, we can work with this. You’re telling the truth?” He asked, almost all previous frustration melting away. Richie nodded. 

“I’m telling the truth.” Wrapped up with a pretty bow. A fraction of the truth in a nice package. Even Richie didn’t know the full truth, he realized, thinking about the secret that Bev, Ben, Mike, Bill, probably even Eddie shared without letting him in on it. There was no way he was just being paranoid. There was definitely something they weren’t telling him. Steve looked like he was about to go into manager-planning-mode but paused. 

“You never talk about your childhood.” He seemed torn between saying it and asking it like a question. Richie shrugged. 

“And?” 

“I mean like _never_. Not even in your sets.”

“I don’t write my own material, Steve. You of all people should know this.” Richie said the last part mockingly. Steve crossed his arms. 

“What aren’t you telling me, Rich?” He pressed. Great, now Richie was the one with the secrets. He almost laughed out loud in recognition of his own bullshit. As if he didn’t have secrets before Derry. 

“I don’t know what you want to know, Steve. You asked for the truth, I told you the truth.” He said, becoming fed up. He still felt like he was going to pass out from exhaustion. Steve took his turn to shrug and sat down on the couch, finally succumbing to Richie’s apparent lack of anxiety. If Steve could look inside Richie’s mind, he’d see that it was all a ruse, a mask, but for now the comedian was content with being the bad thing in the nice packaging. He joined Steve on the couch and let his eyes fall shut.

“I guess I just want to know why this is all so sudden. What changed, man? Why now?” The manager asked calmly. Richie sighed through his nose. 

“I don’t know how to explain it.” He felt Steve’s weight shift next to him. 

“Can you try your best? Please?” Steve surprisingly sounded like he actually wanted to know, to understand. Richie wasn’t sure if he wanted him to. 

“I had a fucked up childhood.” He finally managed out. “All of my friends and I did. Not like regular ‘oh my dad was an alcoholic Republican that taught me that being weak is the opposite of being a man’ type shit, I mean like _really_ fucked up. I won’t go into details, but most of us subconsciously blocked out a lot of the stuff that happened and we just sort of…forgot about it. Each other. Like those, what’s that thing called? Repressed memories. Most of us repressed like our whole fuckin’ childhood, not just the bad parts. And then we all got that phone call and it all came back and I couldn’t…I couldn’t ignore it this time. I wanted to remember my friends. I don’t want to lose them again.” He said, floodgates sort of open. Just a crack. Steve was so silent that Richie opened one eye to make sure he was still there. “I went back so I could make sure I would never forget them again.” He punctuated, hoping it would get Steve to actually respond. After a few beats, he did. 

“Shit. I don’t…damn. I wouldn’t be surprised if you did get into drugs, that shit’s tough. We gotta…we gotta figure it out though. Fast. Are you okay enough to do that?” He asked, suddenly sounding too much like Richie’s therapist. Well, ex-therapist. He was pretty sure she’d dropped him because he was a lost cause, but he was planning on finding a new one. At least there was some hope now that he had his memories back. 

“Jesus, Steve, I had to go to an impromptu reunion, not war. Yes, I can do that. Can I have breakfast first?” He said, choosing not to mention that he had been in danger basically the whole time, two of his friends almost died, he killed a high school bully-turned-psycho with a hatchet, and his romantic feelings for his best friend from thirty years ago resurfaced all in the span of the three days he was gone. During breakfast he considered high tailing it again, maybe to Georgia to check up on Stan, but he figured Bev’s advice extended to the other Losers too, even the ones that hadn’t shown up. Richie needed to figure out his shit and so did they, plus, Stan already had enough to deal with. He didn’t need a loud, possibly very fucked up, comedian with a trashmouth that he hadn’t seen in twenty five years to come crashing into his life for no discernible reason other than to feel a little less alone. So Richie decided against abandoning Steve for Georgia and set to work. Sort of. 

“Rich, you can’t get drunk out of your mind every other fucking night. I don’t know if you remember, but we’re trying to make people think you’re okay, and drinking yourself to sleep every damn night isn’t helping.” Steve said sternly five days into trying to help clean up Richie’s mess (well, technically Mike created the mess, but Richie figured he’d let bygones be bygones and try to fix it without giving Mike a bad time. He may have also been avoiding the Losers because he hated the sinking feeling that they were hiding something from him whenever he merely looked at their contacts in his phone. Except for Eddie’s, of course. He still didn’t have that.) 

“Well which is it buddy, every night or every other night. Make up your mind, man.” He mumbled into his beer, finishing it off with a too-long swig. 

“Fuck off, Richie. It’s been five fucking days. Get your shit together.” Steve said, grabbing Richie by the wrist when he went in for another beer. 

“Jesus Christ, Covall, you kiss your mother with that mouth? It’s just fuckin’ beer, I can handle it. Where were we?” He said, wrenching his wrist out of Steve’s grip. He had miscalculated the force he needed, though, and hit his knuckles on the coffee table below him, cursing when the bone knocked on wood. 

“ _I_ was working on reconstructing the tour that you somehow single handedly fucked up. _You_ were downing sucky beer a can a minute because you refuse to focus.” Steve said, taking the empty beer cans that littered the table and placing them neatly on the floor to clear more space for whatever the fuck Richie was supposed to be paying attention to. Five days and he was still tired as hell. 

“Yo, what the fuck dickhead, what happened to all the ‘are you okay enough to do this’ shit from the other day?” He spat, ignoring the split second Steve looked slightly hurt. He hated how much Steve reminded him of a watered down, less hot Eddie. Like if Eddie was stripped of all the stuff that made him _Eds._ Richie’s Eddie. 

“Well guess what _dickhead_ , you said you _were_ , so do your fuckin’ part and stick to your word.” Steve snapped back, taking Richie’s beer out of his hand and placing the can with the others before he could finish it. 

_Yeah well maybe I’m not._

“Fuckin’ fine, Jesus. I don’t wanna do this anymore.” He blurted quietly, hoping Steve wouldn’t notice. Or hoping that he would. 

“Well, dipshit, I have to leave in thirty minutes anyway, so lucky you. Just bear with me, Rich, I’m begging you.” Steve replied blandly, sorting out more papers that Richie probably should’ve been able to identify. Well at least he didn’t know what Richie was talking about. 

“I don’t mean this, I mean this.” He continued, going against his better judgement for no reason he could think of and waving his hand in an ambiguous gesture. Steve looked at him with raised eyebrows, hand hovering frozen, mid-paper-grab. 

“What, you…you mean comedy?” He sat back, clearly trying to conceal any shock. It didn’t work. 

“No, no, not…” Richie wetted his lips nervously, looking anywhere but Steve. “I mean I want to go back to writing my own stuff. I didn’t become a comedian to tell other peoples’ jokes.” He said, a little voice in his head urging him on, telling him to be proud of himself for finally putting his foot down. But pride is another one of those things, another one of those ugly monsters dressed up all pretty with flashing lights and blinding sequins and music so loud you can’t even hear the consequences of your shit decisions as they’re playing out around you. Of course putting his foot down wouldn’t fucking work. Stupid.

“Tough shit Richie, you signed the contract, you made the decision. Get over yourself. Or better yet, get a therapist, like you fucking said you would.” Steve said, picking up the can that he hadn’t let Richie finish and taking a sip. He made a disgusted face, clearly hating the brand, and glared at Richie before finishing it off. Richie didn’t take his eyes off him the whole time. For the first time in his life, he made a consideration he had never before thought possible. Steve never ended up leaving the apartment. 

The next morning, Richie awoke from yet another nightmare. He’d been right, they kept coming every night, and he had a feeling that after what he’d done with Steve they’d get a _lot_ worse. Steve was still asleep next to him and in the dark light, with him turned away, Richie could imagine that those thin but muscular shoulders, the smooth, toned back, the short brown hair belonged to someone else. But then Steve turned over in his sleep and Richie was reminded that he was yearning for a very married, very distant, very inactive man that probably hadn’t thought about him since Derry. Richie knew that Eddie wasn’t texting or calling because they hadn’t exchanged numbers, but a silly, optimistic part of him hoped that one day his screen would flash with an unknown number and he’d pick up and it would miraculously be the love of his life. Richie repositioned so he was flat on his back and stared up at the ceiling longingly, blinking the tears from his eyes. He wished he could start over. He wished it was the real Eddie next to him, not some strange, discount Eddie that didn’t want him but took him anyway because he was the best he could get that night. Steve and Eddie weren’t even that much alike outside of their similar height and pension for talking a mile a minute. 

Richie wished he didn’t have nightmares every night. Last night’s had been one of the worst ones. Eddie wasn’t even taken from him this time, but that’s what made it so gut-wrenching. Eddie left. He wasn’t taken. He wasn’t killed. He left on his own accord and Richie hadn’t been able to stop him. It was almost funny, because that’s what had actually happened. Eddie had left without so much as a “bye Rich” and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. So the silent “I love you”s were left unsaid and unheard, only bouncing around in Richie’s head until he ran out of tears and was left with his papers he still didn’t read and his shitty beer. Alone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Don’t worry, things won’t be this rough for Richie the whole time. It may take a little while, but things always get better eventually :)


	3. Summer In The City Ain’t All That Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve started to figure out some more major things for this, so it’s a little less “making it up as I go along”-ish, which is cool. Again, swears, Richie’s sad, etc. Hope you like it :D

Richie didn’t know why he felt so guilty. It wasn’t like he had anyone else. It wasn’t like he had Eddie. Still, he got more work done than he had in the past five days combined just from avoiding any non-work interaction with Steve. During lunch, he called Bev, tamping down the jealousy he felt when he thought of her and Ben starting their perfect life as the perfect couple, a blueprint for happiness. Soulmates. Fucking hell. 

“I think I fucked up.” He started, ignoring pleasantries. Bev gave a light laugh on the other end. When Richie didn’t continue, she cleared her throat.

“Honey, I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think.” She sounded way better than she had in Derry, as if all cynicism and trauma and aching, metaphorical and physical, in her life had suddenly evaporated. Richie knew this wasn’t true, but he wished he could have the power that Bev did, to make people think he was fine and dandy. She didn’t even do it on purpose and she was a pro at it. Plus, she was probably miles closer to happiness or contentment or whatever it was Richie was looking for than he was. 

“Well, in addition to me being stuck telling jokes that I hate and don’t even write, I slept with my manager.” He confessed, figuring there wasn’t much to lose. Bev made a choking noise on the other end. 

“Holy shit, warn me next time, I was drinking.” She said with a chuckle that turned into a cough. Richie bit the inside of his cheek nervously. After a few seconds of Bev clearing her throat, she spoke up again. “Do you love him?” 

Richie nearly laughed out loud. 

“What? No. Again with the questions you know the answers to. Come on Bevvy, keep up.” He said, coming off a little more rude than joke-y. Bev hummed. 

“So…what’s going on, why are you telling me this?” She asked plainly. Richie imagined her raising a perfect eyebrow. 

“I just…I dunno. I don’t know. I feel like shit. It’s not like I was cheating on anyone, but I feel awful. Hell, I’ve cheated on people before and I didn’t feel this bad about it. Which, as I’m saying it out loud, is pretty fucked up, but I never said I was a good person.” He said, looking down at his feet as if he were embarrassed to make eye contact with a Bev that wasn’t there. She chuckled lightly, which made him feel at least a little less like an endless pit of shame and idiocy. 

“Look, babe, you’ve made some mistakes—”

“Generous use of the word “some,” thanks Bev.”

“—but who hasn’t? I have! Ben has, Bill and Mike and Stan have. Even Eddie. You’re not alone in that you sometimes fuck up. You’re allowed, dude. It’s part of being human.” She assured. Richie still had a hard time not feeling like shit. 

“Alright. Yeah, alright. I feel like I’ve hit rock bottom, but this is fine.” He said with a nervous laugh. Bev made a pitying noise. 

“You haven’t hit rock bottom, Rich, you’re just recovering. What we went through…it was fucked up. It’s understandable that you’d feel this way.” She said softly, getting a humorless laugh from Richie. 

“How is it that I was better at processing this shit when I was thirteen than now. It’s like I got worse at life as I got older, that’s not how it’s supposed to work.” He said, putting on a bit of a voice at the end and smiling, glad to hear Bev laugh genuinely. He may have felt like he wanted to drown in whisky every two minutes, but least he still had his sense of humor. Mostly. 

“Richie, come on. So you slept with your manager and have a job you kind of hate. You’ve been through worse.” She said, her smile heard in her voice. 

_ Right, like that’s half of it. Are you forgetting that all my friends are already keeping secrets from me even though we literally just remembered each other like less than two weeks ago and all almost died? And that I’m a closeted sort-of celebrity who came inches within ruining his career? And that I’m in love with my best friend who I can’t contact?  _

“Yeah. Yeah, no, you’re right Bevvy. Sorry to dump all this on you, I know you’re settling into your perfect life with Ben, you don’t need shit from me. Sorry, did that sound condescending? I didn’t mean it to, I just meant that like obviously you have your own stuff and that I probably sound like kind of a bummer and—”

“Richie. Stop. You’re fine. We’re friends, I’m here for you fully, good and bad. Jesus, babe, where did all this like…Catholic guilt come from, your parents weren’t even practicing.” She said with an exasperated laugh. Richie snorted, knowing she was right. 

“I have no fuckin’ clue, dude, I just…a lot is going on, you know? I’m feeling very overwhelmed and I haven’t really been doing anything about it.” He said, realizing it only as he said it out loud. He really didn’t have anyone to blame other than himself, huh. Bev only hummed in response. After a few seconds of contemplation, Richie made a decision that he’d been simmering on since Derry. “Hey Bevvy, I’ve got a question…” he asked softly. 

“Sure, what’s up?” She returned brightly. 

“Are you…um…” 

_ Are you and the rest of the Losers keeping something from me? _

_ What’s the big secret? _

_ What are you guys hiding from me? _

“Have you been in contact with Stan? I kinda want to check in on him now that we actually remember each other but I don’t…I don’t have his number.” He said, internally kicking himself for pussying out. It was just a question, it’s not like it would ruin his friendship or put anyone in mortal danger. 

“Oh, uh yeah sure. I’ll send you his contact, but I don’t know if he’ll pick up. Is that…all you wanted to ask me?”

_ No! There’s so much more! _

There was a knock at the window, startling Richie into nearly dropping his phone. He was outside on the fire escape, the phone call his excuse to get outside. Richie loved locking himself up in his apartment and watching reruns of Cake Boss while getting drunk on cheap wine alone as much as the next guy, but when he was locked up in his apartment for the purpose of  _ work _ he never wanted to be further away from  _ inside _ . Even if New York was too hot and too populated and the air was probably more pollution than anything else. Richie longed for the days when he still thought of New York as a shiny new experience that only held promise for a bright future and endless opportunities. Steve motioned for him to come back in and he dismissed him with a sarcastic wave.

“No, I gotta go, it’s my manager. If you say anything remotely suggestive, I’m never talking to you again.” Richie said. Bev’s words rang in his ears.  _ You’ve been through worse.  _ Suddenly, Richie’s guilt was replaced with heavy tiredness. Not physically (maybe a little physically, defeating Pennywise had taken a lot out of him), but emotionally. He didn’t feel like shit but he also didn’t feel like much anything else. 

“Alright, Richie. Feel better. If not for yourself, then for me.” Bev chimed softly. 

“Don’t think I don’t notice you preying on my people-pleasing tendencies. Bye, Bevvy. Love you.”

“Love you too, Rich.” 

Once inside, Richie looked at Steve expectantly, but the man stayed silent, jaw grinding. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence for Richie, Steve cleared his throat and broke the tense eye contact he’d created. “I uh. I thought about what you said, about wanting to write your own material?” His voice was surprisingly soft, and the way he leaned on the kitchen counter with crossed arms only made him look smaller than he already was. He looked back up at Richie across the room, eyes soft. Richie nodded enthusiastically, perking up internally. So maybe he wasn’t completely emotionless, but he had gone through a lot in the past week and a half, he had the prerogative to change his mind about shit like that. “Well you seemed like it was something you really wanted and…” Steve scratched the back of his neck like he was going to regret his next words. “I might be able to pull some strings if—and that’s a pretty big if—I play my cards right. And if you pick up the slack. And cut back on drinking. And commit to the stuff you say you’re gonna commit to.” He said with an almost unnoticeable sigh. Richie straightened his back excitedly, unable to conceal his disbelieving smile. 

“You…you’d do that for me? Holy shit, Covall, I can’t—you—thanks man, that’s fuckin’ awesome!” He said, crossing the room with a few long strides and bringing Steve into a hug that the man clearly didn’t expect. It got awkward fast and Richie pulled away quickly, clearing his throat. “This isn’t ‘cause...y’know, with last night…” He said, hoping to God that what Steve was doing for him wasn’t some kind of fucked up payment for what they had done. He thankfully shook his head.

“No, no, nothing like that…well, actually, kinda. I was hoping…this could sort of be an incentive. I do this and you don’t…tell anyone. Especially May.” Steve said sheepishly. Richie paused. 

_ May? _

_ Oh.  _

“Woah, hold the fuck up, I thought you broke up with her.” He said, leaning on the table. Steve avoided his eyes and shook his head. 

“I kind of…can’t.” He said. Richie made a face. 

“Why not, asshole?” He spat. He couldn’t really talk, he wasn’t exactly the poster boy of sticking to his word, but he had never expected it from Steve. 

“Um. I proposed to her.” He said. Anger flared in Richie’s chest. 

“Dude, what the hell? That’s a major dick move, Steve. You guys don’t even seem like you like each other half the time and you sure as hell don’t love her, why would you—”

“She’s pregnant.” Steve cut in. A blush had formed across his cheeks. Richie took a surprised breath. 

“Oh shit.” For a moment, Richie didn’t know what to feel. His mouth seemed to catch up to the situation before his brain did. “What the fuck. Why…Steve what the hell? Why did you…why the fuck did you let me have sex with you? What the fuck!” Richie jabbed, standing up with crossed arms. Steve shrugged and Richie glared at him. “Answer me, Steve.” He said, unsure of where the sudden authority came from. When Steve looked up he seemed supremely embarrassed. 

“I don’t know, Rich.” He said, sounding lost. Desperate for an answer (though he didn’t know why), Richie surged forward and grabbed Steve’s shirt collar. 

“Fucking answer me.” His voice came out lower, more gravelly, much more dark than he had expected, and for a moment Steve looked genuinely scared. Richie tried to relax a little, make it so he appeared less aggressive, but Steve was still at a loss for words. He opened his mouth but nothing came out. As he searched haplessly, his eyes flicked to Richie’s lips. “Stop that!” He said, letting go of the collar and pointing at Steve as if it would do anything. Steve squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Sorry, sorry! Fuck, I…” His chest rose and fell rapidly and Richie abruptly felt too close, too suffocated, but his feet seemed to be glued to the floor. 

“Are you in love with me?” He asked sharply. Steve’s eyes snapped open and his shame quickly turned to visible confusion. 

“No, what? No, of course not. Why would you ask that? No.” He rambled. Richie gave him another glare and stepped back, anger receding so quickly he felt dizzy. 

“Good,” he fluffed his hair awkwardly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. But you seriously should have told me.” He said, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. He paused with the fridge still open, holding the bottle in mid-air and sighed. He cursed under his breath and put it back in favor of the jug of orange juice that he’d bought days ago and still hadn’t opened. “You better fuckin’ pull those strings, asshole.” He said as he poured himself and Steve a glass. 

“I know, I will. A-are you?” The manager choked out. Richie drew his eyebrows together  as he swallowed down the juice, wishing it was something that would make him forget his own name, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand after he set the glass back down.  _ Eddie would have hated that,  _ he thought wistfully. 

“Am I what?” He replied a little rudely, still feeling a little agitated. Steve peered up at him and clenched his jaw before responding. 

“Uh, i-in love. With me.” He quickly looked away, his shoulders nearly up to his ears with tension. Richie raised his eyebrows, not having expected the question. 

“No.” He replied shortly, finishing off the glass. Steve took a sip of his own juice. 

“Oh. Good. So. Why did you do it? Just out of curiosity.” He said, relaxing a little. Richie thought for a moment before deciding on the truth. 

“Sometimes you remind me of someone I am in love with. He’s not an asshole, though.” He replied with a shrug. Steve nearly choked on his drink. 

“Oh. We—me and this guy have a lot in common?” He asked. Richie shrugged again, too tired to be defensive or deflect the questions like he usually would. 

“You’re both short brunettes that like yelling at me, but beyond that you’re not really that much alike. He was my best friend.” He said pointedly. “I don’t wanna talk about it. Let’s get back to work.”

Richie was glad he had closure with Steve now, but a part of him still felt bad for what  had gone down. Or rather  _ who _ had gone down. Especially now that he knew about May. Internally, Richie decided that he probably wasn’t in the best place to be sleeping around or dating or probably even making friends (hah, as if he did that much before Derry). Above anything, he felt  _ tired.  _ He may not have hit rock bottom yet, but he felt like he was getting dangerously close. Maybe now that he had the possibility of turning his career around, things would get better. Maybe now that he had some hope, he’d be okay. At least when he went to bed alone, he didn’t mind so much anymore. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, if you have any thoughts or anything I’d love to hear them, bad or good. Don’t hold back :) Thanks for reading!


	4. Happiness Is A Turtle’s Shell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one has an actual TW for slur use and a warning for excessive drinking...it’s definitely,,,a chapter lmao, I hope y’all enjoy!

Three months had passed and things still weren’t better. Richie felt like everyone was mad. The people that he’d ran out on over the summer were _still_ mad that he basically had a breakdown on stage and disappeared for three whole days, the people that had bought tickets for the shows after that were mad that he cancelled them completely, the people that owned his work were mad that he didn’t want them to own his work anymore, Steve was mad that the whole “cutting back on drinking” thing had only lasted about a week and a half, but above it all Richie was mad. He was mad that his “fans,” who probably didn’t even like him very much, were so bent out of shape about something he clearly didn’t have the mental or emotional strength to control. He was mad that every time he texted or called the other Losers, they still gave the daunting impression that they were keeping something from him. He was mad at Bev and Ben and their perfect life in their perfect house with their _boat_ . Since when did Ben own a fucking boat? He was mad that Stan wasn’t picking up his calls, which he knew was irrational and selfish, but that made him even more mad. Why couldn’t he just stop obsessing and deal with his own shit for once? _Richie_ was probably the thing that made him the most mad. He was mad that he was so…incompetent. Emotionally, generally, whatever. He was mad that he had created so much bullshit over the course of his life and, instead of actually doing something about it, just created more bullshit to try to erase the other bullshit. An endless cycle of pure, grade a, pasture-raised bullshit. He was particularly mad that he still hadn’t figured out the key to happiness, or more specifically, how to be happy in a job that doesn’t let him do that. He still hadn’t figured out how to get the higher ups to let him write his own stuff. Contract, or whatever. Almost everything in his life may have been a product of bullshittery on his part, but he liked it a hell of a lot better when it was actually his bullshit jokes that he was telling and not those of some stranger who was more interested in spending the money they make from it on monotonous bathroom blowjobs and bottomless margaritas at shitty bars on trivia night. 

Richie was mad Eddie still hadn’t called. 

He had persuaded Bev, with much groveling and promise-making, to give Eddie his phone number. He didn’t want to get Eddie’s because he knew he’d call too soon or too much or whatever like with Stan, and he didn’t want two Losers to have to deal with his bullshit. But if Eddie had _his_ phone number, that was a different story. That meant that Eddie thought about Richie, that he wanted to connect with him, that he hadn’t run away from Richie without any plans to look back. 

But he hadn’t called and things didn’t get better. So Richie stayed mad and everyone else in his life did too. Mostly at him, unfortunately. 

“Hey, wanna know something fucked up?” He drawled to the bartender, a young woman probably just trying to pay her way through grad school as seamlessly as possible. Richie would have to remind himself to tip well. His words ran together a little, but he wasn’t quite where he _wanted_ to be, drunk-wise. The nightmares had been at an all-time awful the night before and he’d had a pretty shitty day that he was keen on forgetting, if only temporarily.

“Not really,” the girl, “Lucy” based off of what Richie had heard the other bar workers call her, dried another glass as Richie finished off his own. He didn’t have to ask for a refill. Lucy had been in his vicinity for most of the time he was there and had gotten used to his patterns pretty quickly. She didn’t leave despite her unwillingness to listen to Richie, so he kept talking anyway. It really was a gift, wasn’t it?

“Okay, okay, you can’t tell anyone, okay? Like, _anyone._ Top secret, CIA, FBI, whatever shit, ‘kay?” He said, almost giggling. Actually, he did giggle, but only a little bit. The bartender raised a disinterested eyebrow. “Pinky promise?” He asked, holding out his pinky hopefully. Lucy shook her head and picked up another glass to dry, causing Richie to grimace. “Alright, I’ll have to trust you. But if you tell anyone, it’ll be considered treason of the highest degree and you’ll be discharged immediately, understand Sergeant?” He said, slipping into a militaristic voice. Lucy gave an exaggerated sigh but nodded nonetheless. “Okay, cool. So—wait, do you know who I am?” Richie asked, tensing up. The bartender wrinkled her nose. 

“No. Am I supposed to?” She asked, probably not looking for an actual answer. Richie didn’t pick up on that, though, and answered anyway. 

“Sweet, no, that’s fucking awesome, I don’t want you to know who I am. Well, I mean, obviously I’m like telling you my deepest darkest secrets, so I kind of do, but I mean like my name or whatever. Okay, okay, wanna hear the thing now?” He asked, leaning forward in an almost excited manner. He didn’t wait for a response. “Okay here it is: I fell in love with my childhood best friend and then I forgot about him for like twenty seven years because we had such a fucked up childhood that it gave us amnesia—and also I think my hometown is magical or maybe cursed, but that doesn’t matter—I fell in love with him and I remember him now and it turns out, spoiler alert, I never stopped! Hah! How _fucked_ is _that_?” He babbled, downing his next drink in one sip. Lucy raised her eyebrows. 

“So the big secret is that you can’t get over a crush?” She asked blandly, taking his glass away instead of refilling it this time. Richie laughed. _Crush_. 

“Oh, sister, I think you’re simplifying this a little too much. I didn’t have a crush on him, I would fucking die for him. I would then and I would now. When we were kids and I wasn’t ar-around him, d’you know what it felt like? It felt like I couldn’t…every two seconds I couldn’t fucking breathe because I’d get this insane, sudden fear that I’d never see him again? You know?” Richie’s words were running together and he couldn’t really think straight, but that didn’t stop him. “I-I-I got the shit beat out of me every other day, right, by all the assholes that wanted me dead and broke my glasses and wrote ‘Richie Tozier sucks flamer cock’ in the bathroom stalls and do you know what I was most afraid of? I was afraid that something would happen to Eddie. I was afraid that one day he’d decide he didn’t want to be my friend anymore, or that his crazy fucked up munchausen-or-whatever-the-fuck-it-is mom would ban him from seeing me forever and he wouldn’t be able to…to sneak out or convince her to let him go with me like all the other times she said shit like that. I was afraid that the bullies would turn their attention to him more and decide that calling him names wasn’t enough, so guess what I did, can you guess? I fucking acted out _on purpose._ I literally _asked them for it._ You know when assholes roll up their sleeves right before they’re about to punch you or throw you out of the bar or whatever and they say ‘oh you’re asking for it, buddy,’? Well I _actually_ asked for it. Every time they got a little too close to him, I’d uhh, I’d up the ante a little, ya know? I’d steal their cigarettes or flip them off or put chili powder in their shirts and underwear and shit, and they’d hit me harder every fucking time, but I didn’t even mind because it let me know that they weren’t hitting Eddie. And you know what? I feel the same way now! I’d do it all again right fucking now if I needed to! Hell, I don’t even know where he lives, but you bet your ass I’d drive there right now and punch the lights out of anyone he wants me to if he asked. I would die for him, sure, but the kicker is that I would live for him too, and sometimes that gets kind of fucking hard but I ignore that for _him_ , even if he doesn’t know. A-and I fucking, you know the years where I couldn’t remember him? Because of the, the fucking clown? Well I lived for him then too! I couldn’t remember, I couldn’t fucking _remember_ his face or his name but he was there, in my head, and I told myself that one day when I wasn’t so scared I’d try to find him. Even if I didn’t know who he was. But yeah, it’s—it’s just a fucking _crush_ I can’t get over. Can I get another glass of something that could kill me if I drank too much of it?” He was nearly out of breath when he finished, desperate to get another drink in him. The bartender had stopped drying her glasses somewhere in the middle of his rant and held the glass and towel suspended in drying position, the towel sort of stuffed in the glass awkwardly as if the two objects were mad at each other. 

“Uh. Yeah. Sure. What would you like?” She still seemed kind of shocked as she finished up the glass and slung the towel over her shoulder. 

“Fucking anything, I don’t care.” Richie suddenly felt too sober (even though he was probably a few steps beyond buzzed) and too angry to make eye contact, so instead he leaned his elbows on the bar and looked to the side, fluffing the back of his hair for lack of anything better to do with his hands. The bar was fairly underpopulated, the only patron to his right being a sixty-something woman with a shirt cut low enough to show a myriad of tattoos decorating her chest. As Richie focused more on the woman, he realized that most of her upper arms were covered with them too. 

“See somethin’ ya like, honey?” The woman’s raspy voice sliced its way through Richie’s drunken focus, causing him to start a little before making eye contact. The woman had long hair, almost entirely gray, tied up into a messy bun. It looked like it hadn’t been washed in a while. Richie reminded himself that as a forty year old man getting shitfaced alone because it was easier than dealing with his feelings, he couldn’t judge. 

“Uh, yeah, your tattoos are cool.” He replied quietly, almost embarrassed. He picked up his new drink and looked into it sadly before letting the cool yet burning liquid slide down his throat. The woman was suddenly at his side, taking the stool next to him. Her outfit was fairly simple. Black short sleeved shirt (wasn’t it a little cold for that?), ripped maroon skinny jeans with silver studs lining the pockets, a little backpack made to look like a turtle’s shell, bracelets almost completely covering her entire forearms, and badass-looking platform boots that Richie probably would have wanted when he was sixteen. 

“Look, kid, I heard what you were sayin’ to Luce here and I gotta say, it sounds like you should talk to this guy you’re hung up on. I think he needs it as much as you do.” She said casually, not breaking eye contact on her next swig of beer. Richie realized that all her tattoos were different versions of turtles, which sort of explained the backpack. All the turtles were different, too. Not even just different breeds, but different styles, colors, patterns, everything. Richie liked them. 

“I’m sorry, lady, but I don’t think that’s true. I just…fuck up all the shit whenever I try to do anything going in blind. If _he_ calls _me_ , at least we can blame him if things go south, right? If I call him, it’s fucking _impossible_ for stuff to _not_ go south.” He mumbled, staring into his empty glass once more. Beside him, he heard the woman chuckle. 

“Alright Richie, you can keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She said knowingly. Richie’s eyes snapped to her, eyebrows drawn. 

“How d’you know my name?” He asked, words slurring together a little more than they had been before. The woman laughed again. 

“You said it during your painfully long pity-party monologue back there.” She said, almost looking like she was holding back an “ _obviously_.” Richie was glad she didn’t say it out loud. 

“Oh. Well wassyour name?” He mumbled, cocking his head to the side like a puppy who’s owner just taunted him with the promise of a treat. The woman smiled warmly. 

“Maturin.” She replied softly, taking another sip from her dwindling lager. Richie raised his eyebrows. 

“That’s weird as fuck. Your parents hippies or something?” He asked, forgetting any and all manners. Or ignoring them. Maturin laughed.

“I know, right. You can call me whatever you want and I’ll still be me, you don’t have to worry. My friends just call me Matty. Or Tully. Or Turtle. Basically anything but Maturin.” She said matter-of-factly. Richie nodded and motioned for the bartender, who had wandered away, but Maturin put a hand on his wrist and dismissed Lucy when she looked over. “Look, Richie, I know you think I don’t know what I’m talking about, or that I’m just some crazy old woman, but I want you to listen to me, just for now at least, okay? Humor me, you’re good at that kind of thing.” She said, voice dropped almost to a whisper. Richie only nodded slowly in response. Maybe he had already blacked out and was taken home and this was what his brain had concocted as a bizarre post-drink-binge dream so he could have a break from the nightmares. _You can call me whatever you want and I’ll still be me, you don’t have to worry._ What the fuck did that mean? “Alright, Richie, look. It’s clear you’ve been through…a lot lately, but you can’t let that distract you from the fact that you’re still in control. This is _your_ life, and it will never belong to anyone else, so treat it well. I know it seems hard right now, but when is life _not_ scary? It’s life! You’ve never done it before! Things will always be scary, but the trick to thinking it’s not is remembering that you’re not alone. Your life is scary, but so is everyone else’s. So instead of letting the scary take over you, _you_ have to take over the scary and remind it that it’s _your_ life and _you’re_ in control. I’m not gonna tell you to ‘not be scared’ because I’m pretty sure that’s impossible, but I’m just telling you to be scared…with confidence, you know? Say ‘hell yeah I’m scared, but that’s not gonna stop me from trying to be as happy as I can.’” Matty looked at him meaningfully. “You’re only as happy as you let yourself and the people around you be, Richie. Try to keep that in mind.” She said wisely. Richie felt dumbstruck. He opened his mouth to respond and looked around as if the words he was looking for would be scattered across the bar. When he looked back up, the woman was gone. Richie looked at the bartender in confusion. 

“You just saw that, right? That actually happened?” He asked breathily. The bartender nodded slowly, looking just as confused as him. “I need to get out of here.” He said under his breath, pulling out his phone with trembling hands and trying his best to navigate through the apps until he got to Uber, which was a task in itself. It took him probably three times as long as it would if he were sober, but he eventually got a ride that arrived at the bar shortly.. After he clambered in, he stayed surprisingly quiet on the way to his apartment. Once they arrived, the driver looked at him in the rear view mirror. 

“Hey man, aren’t you that comedian?” He asked, an excitement buzzing in the air that Richie was too tired and too drunk to handle. 

“No, that guy’s an asshole. Thanks for the ride.” He replied a little too gruffly to be a sincere thanks, stumbling a bit after getting out of the car. Once in his room, he didn’t bother with his clothes before falling on the couch, passing out nearly the second his head hit the pillow. His phone might have been ringing, but again, he was too tired and too drunk to care. Voicemail existed for a reason, he could check it in the morning. That night, Richie dreamed that he was a turtle that carried its home on its back and had lived for a hundred years without a care in the world.

It was nice while it lasted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I threw in Maturin. no, I will not be taking criticisms (jk, anything that’ll help me get better at writing is appreciated lol)


	5. You’ve Got (Voice)Mail

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this one, but I did reference the fact that there was an old movie poster for the movie You’ve Got Mail in Richie’s arcade scene in the movie with the title lol. Hope you like it :D

_ “To replay this message, press one. To delete, press seven. To return the message sender’s  _ _ call, press—” _

Richie pressed one on his phone’s dial pad for what was maybe the fourth time since he first heard the message. It was a little past ten in the morning and Richie was still in his clothes from the previous night and he did  _ not  _ feel good. Steve had texted and called him many times and was probably freaking out, but Richie was barely paying attention to that because Eddie’s voice coming out of his phone astonished him more and more each time he replayed the message. 

“ _ Hey, uh, hey Rich, it’s me. Eddie, I mean, it’s Eddie, I got your number from Bev? I don’t _ _ know if she told you, but anyway hi. I know it’s been a few months, and I’m sorry for not…y’know, calling or whatever, but I uh. A lot’s been going on, as I’m sure, uh, the same is with you, but my therapist told me I need to…‘do more stuff for myself’ now that I’m divorced, which is a thing that I did by the way, so here I am. Going out of my comfort zone or whatever. I’m sorry, you’re probably busy and won’t even hear this for like four weeks, but when you do, would you like to, um, catch up? Or something? I don’t know where you are, but I’m in New York, so if you ever want to get drinks or go out for coffee and talk about...y’know, whatever, I’m open to make plans. Alright, I’m sorry, this is probably getting too long, but call me back. Or don’t if you can’t, or don’t want to or whatever. Anyway, again, this is Eddie. Kaspbrak, obviously. Bye.” _

Richie sucked in a breath as the automated voice relayed him his options once more. Eddie was  _ there.  _ In New York! Where Richie was! He almost laughed out loud in his empty apartment at the irony of it all before pressing one to listen to the message again. He couldn’t call back now, he was hungover and tired and felt like his insides reeeeally wanted no longer be his insides, which probably wasn’t the best state of mind or body to be in while replying to a message he’d been dreaming of for months from his long lost best friend and also love of his life. Richie sighed, saved the message, and added Eddie to his contacts. The second he stood up, his stomach swooped in a particularly unattractive way and he had to race to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before a substantial amount of what he’d drank last night came up. He stayed kneeling in front of the toilet for a moment, eyes squeezed shut, thinking of how embarrassed he’d be if Eddie saw him like this. He was significantly closer to rock bottom than he’d been three months before, much to his dismay. He knew that he definitely looked like shit even if he avoided his reflection in the mirror when washing his hands. Against his goal not to hit rock bottom, he opened the cabinet to see if there was anything to take the edge off the hangover—an abandoned prescription, maybe some loose, unidentifiable pills…hell, even cough syrup would’ve done. Unfort (or maybe very fortunately), the cabinet came up empty, save for your generic bathroom items. Immeasurably frustrated with himself and the fact that he had even considered that kind of thing, he slammed the cabinet shut and rubbed his eyes, willing the familiar burning sensation behind them away. He  _ wouldn’t  _ cry because he couldn’t handle his problems without drinking, or stop thinking of himself for one fucking second, or because he could fight a demon clown  _ twice  _ and yet couldn’t find the courage to make the simplest phone call of all time. He  _ wouldn’t _ . Richie was just beginning to contemplate taking a shower even though he felt like he might not ever want to get out if he did when there was a knock at his door. Richie nearly audibly groaned but retreated from the bathroom anyway, pausing before reaching the door. He looked down at his outfit and grimaced, but ultimately decided that whoever was there would just have to deal with Gross Richie for now. He opened the door to see none other than Steve, and he looked mad. 

“Can I come in?” He spat, arms crossed. Richie shrank back and nodded, blushing with embarrassment. Steve usually only actually asked to come in if he was  _ really  _ mad. Richie felt like he had when he was fifteen and his dad caught him with cigarettes. Steve’s disappointment was palpable. Distantly, Richie thought about the irony that someone so obsessed with people-pleasing also happened to be one of the most disappointing guys in Manhattan. Probably all of New York. Steve walked in, scary calm, and only turned to Richie once he closed the door. 

“Look, I—” Steve held up a hand and Richie shut his mouth, avoiding eye contact. 

“I called you like fifteen times, Rich.” He sounded let down in a way that made Richie cringe in shame. He  _ had  _ let him down, he didn’t know why he was so surprised that Steve was calling him out. 

“I know.” He whispered, unsure of how to come up with an apology that didn’t sound empty or insincere. The manager looked at him in exasperation. 

“I mean what—I don’t know what you want me to do, Richie. You ask me to pull some strings, I pull some strings. You ask me to help you clean up your shit from when you disappeared without telling  _ me _ or  _ anyone else _ where you were going for three days, and I help you. What do  _ you _ do? Hm? Get drunk any chance you can? Even though you said you wouldn’t? Contrary what you may think, Richie, being sad over a guy isn’t an excuse for slacking on your work and going against your word. We work  _ together,  _ Rich. That means there’s no room for shit like that.” Steve’s voice never rose a bit, but Richie felt more like he was being yelled at than he had in a very long time. He thought of the woman from the night before, though his memory was hazy. 

_ You’re only as happy as you let yourself and the people around you be.  _

“I…I know. I don’t…fuck, Steve, I don’t know what to do. I-I, Jesus Christ, I feel like I can’t do anything right.” He said shakily, rubbing the heels of his palms into his eyes and practically begging his tear ducts not to betray him. It suddenly felt hard to breathe. 

“Rich, hey hey hey. Calm down.” Steve’s voice abruptly grounded him. The manager looked slightly concerned. “Go brush your teeth and take a shower, you look like shit. And don’t think I didn’t hear you throwing up before you let me in. You can tell me what’s going on once you don’t look as…sad.” He instructed calmly. Richie looked at him hazily before nodding. 

In the shower, Richie thought about what he would say if he called Eddie back. Eddie, who was in New York. Eddie, who wanted to get drinks. Eddie, who had left Richie behind in Derry faster than he could say “I fucked your mom” and hadn’t made any attempts to contact him in the three months since. Well, except for now. Richie scolded himself for being mad. He’d been busier than ever in the past months anyway, it wasn’t like he had  _ time  _ for stuff like that. Plus, Eddie had clearly been dealing with his own stuff! Divorces are very time consuming. Richie scolded himself again, this time for being so self-centered. Halfway through the shower, he switched to thinking about what he’d do about Steve. Or rather, what he’d do to make Steve less mad. And to make everybody else less mad, too, as a matter of fact. Part of Richie still thought  _ fuck it, why not just meet up with him? If you have time to hang around a half empty bar for two hours to avoid figuring shit out, you can hang out with the guy that used to be your best friend that you fought a murder clown with twice for like half an hour.  _ Unfortunately, his common sense was bigger and stronger than the part of him that thought that, so the notion was quickly squashed. After getting dressed and brushing his teeth, Richie looked at himself in the fogged mirror. He had dark circles under his eyes and he probably needed to shave, but he still looked better than he had thirty minutes prior. With a conflicted sigh, he gave himself a determined nod and went out to face Steve. 

“Alright, okay, I have a proposition.” He started, squaring his shoulders in what he hoped seemed like a professional manner despite his faded graphic tee and sweatpants getup. Steve raised an eyebrow, arms still crossed. Richie swallowed thickly and fought the urge to shuffle his feet. “What if I…came out.” He stammered, trying his best to make it seem like he thought it was a good idea. Steve looked at him like he was crazy. “Not like right this minute, I mean, I’m just saying like…generally. Maybe sometime within the month. Look, okay, it’s not a bad idea. It’ll explain the Derry thing, I can say that ‘hiding for so long’ or whatever had gotten to me so bad that I couldn’t handle it, had three days of rumination, and ultimately decided that I wouldn’t lie to myself and the world any longer or something.” He said, barely even believing his own bullshit. Steve raised his eyebrows, unimpressed. 

“So lying? Basically, lying is your proposition?” He said blandly, a condescending glint in his eye. 

“Oh, like you can fuckin’ say anything about that.” Richie sneered, regretting it immediately. Steve dropped the sarcastic look and broke eye contact for a moment. “I’m sorry Stevie, but what did you expect? Pretty much this whole damn business is lying. Might as well spin it in the best way possible. It’s not like I wasn’t lying before. Plus, then maybe it’d force these fuckers to let me go.” Richie continued softly, shrugging and putting his hands in his pockets when they began to get fidgety. Steve considered his words. 

“I have…I’ll have to think about this. But I gotta admit, Tozier, I’m just glad you’re back to having ideas at all.” He said, flashing a winning smile that was almost genuine. Richie nodded and cleared his throat. 

“Look, uh, I’m really sorry about all this, Steve. I know it’s…a lot, and I know it’s definitely not what you need right now and I’m sorry I can be such a self-centered dick sometimes, and—”

“Woah woah woah, what?” Steve stepped closer, eyes suddenly filled with too much care for Richie to maintain eye contact. 

“I mean, I just know I can’t be the easiest to work with at…well, a lot of the time, and I know I swear too much and don’t always read situations right, and I know that a lot of times I probably seem really fuckin’ lazy, which I try not to be but sometimes I just have so much shit going on in my head that I literally can’t focus on anything in the tangible world, which lemme tell ya, definitely as ‘not fun’ for me as it is for you, and I know I drink too much, but quitting or lightening up or whatever is wayyy fuckin’ harder than I expected, and…yeah. I’m just sorry.” Richie rambled, fluffing the back of his hair sheepishly. Steve stared at him for a moment, face painted with an unreadable expression. 

“Richie, sit down.” He commanded, gesturing to the couch. Richie raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth to object, but was cut off by Steve’s hand. “Sit.” He pointed to the couch and Richie paused before sitting down. Steve disappeared into Richie’s office for a moment before coming out with his computer and setting it on the coffee table. He looked at Richie expectantly. He just shrugged, having zero clue what Steve was trying to tell him with his mind, and received an eye roll. 

“I see what you’ve learned at those classes for psychic powers hasn’t kicked in yet. What the fuck is going on, Covall?” He finally bit, getting another, more exaggerated eye roll. Steve sat beside him and looked at him consolingly. 

“You need to check your shit. I don’t think you realize how good of a person you really  are. Sure, you’re not perfect, but goddamn are you one of my favorite clients. People like  _ being  _ around you, Richie. There’s a reason for that. You, you do these  _ things  _ that just make you naturally likeable, at least once people actually get to know you. You’re sort of painted as this stereotypical ‘I’m better than you’ straight white guy asshole, because that’s what you felt like you had to do to guarantee success, but that guy, he’s…he’s the opposite of you! Well, not the white part obviously, but you get what I mean. I know I sometimes seem kind of fed up, but it’s not ‘cause you’re ‘hard to work with’ or a bad person or anything like that, it’s because sometimes I feel like you’re barring yourself from being happy and, I’ll be honest with you, it makes me mad. It’s like you think you don’t deserve to be happy or something, it’s creepy as fuck.” Steve said, chuckling lightly. Richie chewed the inside of his cheek and made a “hm” noise. 

“So what’s this for?” He pointed to the laptop. Steve switched seamlessly back into manager mode, startling Richie a bit. He hadn’t even realized Steve had gotten  _ out  _ of manager mode. 

“ _ That  _ is for you to get a therapist. We’re doin’ it today, buddy, get ready.” He said matter-of-factory. Richie groaned and let himself fall into the couch. Steve chuckled again. “The time has come, man, you need this. Come on, it’s not gonna be that bad, why are you so scared of this?” He asked, opening the computer. Richie tracked him tiredly with his eyes. 

“Because they’ll make me talk about my feelings.” He said truthfully. Steve grunted. 

“You just talked to me about your feelings for like five fuckin’ minutes.” He mumbled, trying to log into Richie’s computer despite not knowing his information. 

“Yeah,” Richie leaned forward and signed in, throwing Steve a look that he threw right back. “But with them I’ll have to talk for like an  _ hour.  _ I’ve been to therapy before, Steve, I know how much it sucks.” He said, wrinkling his nose when Steve batted Richie’s hands away and took over the google search bar. 

“First of all,  _ Richie _ , you don’t know how to pick therapists. Clearly. You can’t just go with the first person you find, it’s a process. Like dating. ‘Good therapy at first sight’ doesn’t exist. You gotta keep looking until you find someone you’re comfortable with.” He explained, clicks on a therapist forum website decidedly. Richie gave him another look. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right.” He said, a smile in his eyes. Richie sighed. 

“Fine. But if this doesn’t go right immediately, I’m never taking your advice again.” He said, breaking into a smile of his own. Steve laughed lightly and shook his head. 

“Dumbass. You’re lucky your jokes are cheesy enough to be funny in an ironic way, if you look at them in the right light.” He said. Richie put his hand on his chest and gasped. 

“Steven! How could you say such a thing? Bullying. This is bullying. You’ll be the first person I gossip with my new therapist about.” He said in a feminine Victorian voice. Steve rolled his eyes again. 

Richie would never admit it out loud, but Steve was right. Finding the right therapist was a process. The first guy had been okay, but he seemed set on diagnosing Richie with shit he probably didn’t even have as soon as humanly possible. The second guy had weird vibes that Richie did  _ not  _ trust and the third was too hot for Richie’s comfort. 

“Look, I don’t want to talk about shit that has a very high potential of making me cry to a  guy that looks like a modern Anthony Perkins, it’s embarrassing.” He had said when Steve looked at him disapprovingly for turning the therapist down. He had been a good therapist, truly, but Richie could not handle another small, hot brunette in his life. It’s not like he could ever like anyone as much as the original small hot brunette in his life, but it still felt weird. It’s also not like he’d ever have a chance with any of them, but that's besides the point. The fourth therapist was a woman, and Richie was sure she was the one almost immediately. Nora was the only one of the four that actually seemed like she wanted to get to  _ know  _ Richie, really know him, and he was beyond happy about it. In all the commotion of finding a good therapist and beginning a regular routine of sessions, Richie hadn’t forgotten about Eddie’s voice message. He had re-listened to it a lot, actually, and sometimes he would start to feel ways he probably shouldn’t and would shut the phone off with unparalleled speed. Richie didn’t like thinking of Eddie when he felt  _ that way,  _ but who was he kidding, he thought about Eddie every goddamn waking hour, so the best line he could draw was limiting himself to only _ thinking _ about Eddie. No hearing his voice or looking at the old pictures he had posted on a probably abandoned Facebook account six years ago. Richie had made the mistake of doing the latter early into his almost-four-month-separation from Eddie and wasn’t able to look at himself in the mirror for a week afterwards. Maybe he’d talk about it with Nora...nope, that was a little too far for him. He figured he’d spare her and just talk about the childhood trauma and prevalent internalized homophobia, like usual. 

But no, Richie hadn’t forgotten about Eddie’s voice message. In fact, he felt pretty bad for waiting so long to respond, but between starting therapy, attempting to make progress with coming out and getting the rights to his work (much harder than he expected), and actually strategizing what he would say if he ever  _ did  _ respond to Eddie (also much harder than he expected), he was too busy. 

Or he was just avoiding it. 

It wasn’t that Richie was  _ scared.  _ It was Eddie Kaspbrak! Eddie Spaghetti, Eds, his  _ best  _ _ friend.  _ Or at least his  _ used-to-be  _ best friend _.  _ He wasn’t scared of his used-to-be best friend, that’d be silly. It was just that he happened to be in love with this particular used-to-be best friend and couldn’t shake the paranoia that he’d blurt out something stupid or that Eddie would abruptly realize he didn’t actually want Richie in his life or that Eddie would find out that Richie was a total fuck-up that wasn’t capable of properly handling emotions without getting black-out drunk on a regular basis. 

Okay, maybe he was scared. Just a little.   


Or maybe it was that he still felt the pressing weight of the secret that the other Losers were more than likely keeping from him. Feeling that way around Eddie was just…too much. The only good thing about Eddie leaving Derry before everybody else was the fact that Richie would no longer have to feel that way around him. He and Eddie had  _ never _ kept secrets as kids. Well, except for one of course. Richie figured he could count being gay and being in love with Eddie as one secret because he couldn’t really have one without the other. As Richie thought about all of this one night, he itched to get some alcohol in him. He didn’t like being alone with these kinds of thoughts and feelings because it could get too sad too fast, but that couldn’t happen when you don’t remember anything the next day. Against his better judgment, Richie got up from the couch and slowly walked to the kitchen, completely stopping in his tracks a few times, as if his body was trying to physically tell him  _ dude this is such a fuckin’ bad idea! You’re gonna regret it, like always! Turn around!  _ He made it all the way to the fridge, though, even going so far as to open it and scan what he had left of beer. It was beer, he could handle one beer. It wasn’t like he was downing hard liquor until he couldn’t see straight, he was just…having a beverage. What stopped him was the glint of his phone on the kitchen counter next to him (he had assumed he lost it after not finding it where it usually was, like he often did, and had been scrolling Twitter aimlessly and jotting random shit he thought of that had the potential to be at least a little funny in a Google doc on his computer). Richie bit his lip in conflict. He was already mid-reach for one of the bottles in the fridge. With a determined breath, he shut the fridge door and stood up, looking at the phone somewhat accusingly. Stupid phone, providing him with the opportunity to regain contact and connection with his childhood best friend that he loved with all his heart. His brain felt like it’s two halves were yelling at each other, so he squeezed his eyes shut to try to silence any doubts and grabbed the phone. 

Richie nearly hung up on the first ring, but he grounded himself, standing up straight in an almost superhero-ish stance as if it would do anything to stay his anxiety. Four rings. Five. 

“Hey Eds.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts on the chapter :P


	6. A Comedian and A Risk Analyst Walk Into a Bar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No TWs for this, I hope y’all like it! Sorry I took a little longer with this one, I’ll try not to take too long for the others

The first thing Richie noticed about Eddie was that he looked… _good._ No, ‘good’ didn’t cover it. Smokin’? Slammin’? Sexy? Any other ‘s’ word synonymous with ‘hot’? To put it simply, Eddie made the butterflies in Richie’s stomach feel like they were reenacting all of the flight scenes from Top Gun. It wasn’t just because of how he looked, though. Granted, he was rocking the classy-but-casual sweater over button down look, but Richie was pretty sure Eddie could look good in a paper bag. What really made Richie feel warm all over like he was seventeen again and asking someone to prom was the way Eddie _moved._ The way his shoulders visibly relaxed when he caught sight of Richie, the way his eyes brightened, the way he faced Richie openly and had to tilt his head up just so to make eye contact. Despite all of this, the first words out of Richie’s mouth were “Woah, cool scar.” 

Eddie blushed in embarrassment and rolled his eyes. “You’re a jerk.” He said, a betraying smile tugging at his lips. Richie couldn’t help but grin as they took their places at the bar. It was a busy evening and there were only three stools left, but thankfully two of those stools were next to each other. Richie hoped Eddie didn’t notice the way his eyes flicked up and down Eddie’s frame. It was a quick, appreciative look, but Richie would be immeasurably embarrassed if Eddie noticed him checking him out. 

“No, I’m serious, nobody’s gonna fuck with you now. You look ruthless.” He took the opportunity to study Eddie’s face, glad that he didn’t seem to notice. Or just didn’t bring it up. The scar really wasn’t bad, but Richie was pretty sure that there was no world where he didn’t find Eddie attractive anyway. He had a kind of nervous energy to him, lacing and unlacing his hands every once in a while, but it wasn’t a _stressed_ nervous. More like…cautious excitement. Richie felt how Eddie looked. “Even if you’re the same height as you were when we were fifteen.” He tacked on, receiving a glare. 

“Why did I agree to this? I would have never come if I knew you were gonna be an asshole.” Eddie shot without enough faux annoyance to make Richie actually feel bad. He was unable to repress a small smile despite his clear efforts and it was doing a lot of things for Richie, if he was honest. He looked at Eddie knowingly. 

“See. Ruthless. I’m hurt.” He said, turning away slightly with a “hurt” look like an actress from the 40s. Eddie’s light chuckle brought him out of the character. “Speaking of ruthless, how’s it living the single life, Mr. Recent Divorcee?” Richie asked suggestively, maybe a little too much so. He didn’t know the post-divorce etiquette, he couldn’t be blamed. Eddie made an ‘it’s a long story’ face and hailed the bartender. 

“I think I need some alcohol in me for this, what would you like?” He said with a laugh. Richie watched him tentatively as a slight blush creeped across Eddie’s cheeks. 

“Just whatever you’re having. As long as it’s not something weird.” He replied quietly. Eddie rolled his eyes and ordered them draft beer that wasn’t shit but also wasn’t Richie’s favorite. He did find a new appreciation for it since Eddie liked it, though. “So what, is this like a taboo subject or somethin’? Don’t wanna talk about your wild, sexy, post-divorce excursions with your ol’ pal Richie?” He prodded with a grin. Eddie blushed further and took a sip of his beer, avoiding eye contact. 

“No, no. I mean, kind of, but not because I’m trying to hide anything from you. Not much has happened since we separated, is all. I’m still kinda figuring stuff out, you know?” He said sheepishly. Richie nodded. 

“Dude, same, it has been a _rollercoaster_ since Derry.” He said, sipping his own beer. _A_ _rollercoaster_. That’s one way to put it. Eddie gave a breathy half-laugh. 

“Yeah. I’m, uh, pretty sure I’m gay.” He blurted. Richie paused mid-sip before finishing off the mouthful and clearing his throat. Oh. Okay. Brain suddenly caught in a haze, he thought back to Derry, the last time (almost) all the Losers were together, when Eddie declined the offer to swim in the quarry in favor of an actual shower in the Townhouse. Richie had walked with him about halfway before claiming he probably should head back to the rest. The reality of it was that he couldn’t stand the feeling of Eddie keeping something from him any longer. If he had known it was the last time he’d see Eddie in three and a half months, he wouldn’t have turned back. He could swear Eddie’s face fell at this, but he could’ve imagined it. 

_“Alright, bye I guess. Still don’t know why you don’t wanna swim with us, but I respect_ _your decision.” Richie’s lips quirked into a curious smile. Eddie shrugged._

 _“I just think it’s probably best if I start sorting stuff out now, check my emails or_ _whatever. My wife has probably called me like a thousand times, I don’t want to worry her any more than I already have. Shit, she’s probably freaking out.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and drew his eyebrows together with a far-off look. “Plus, I sort of feel like if I don’t use actual soap as soon as possible, I might actually die.” He added, returning to eye contact. Richie shoved his shoulder lightly, a slow motion ‘bro-punch’, as Bev called them._

 _“Alright. We’ll miss you, though. Make sure whatever you’re abandoning me for is worth_ _it.” Richie put on a slight over-dramatic voice, getting Eddie to chuckle._

 _“I’m not abandoning you, dipshit. You’ll be fine without me. Okay. Bye for now.” Eddie_ _gave a shy smile. Richie chewed his lip._

 _“Wait, I’m…I’m gay. It doesn’t matter, completely irrelevant, but I just wanted to…get it_ _off my chest. Actually say out loud to someone, I dunno.” Richie’s hands were in the pockets of his own jacket, which had only suffered minimal wear and tear from the fight. Eddie’s eyebrows were raised. For a moment, he was silent. Richie had to fight off the sick feeling that he’d made a very big mistake._

 _“O-oh,” was all Eddie offered at first. Not too bad, thank god. Also not necessarily good,_ _per se, but Richie was trying to be an optimist. “Okay. Cool. Thanks for letting me know, Rich. I mean, I’m glad…I’m glad you still trust me enough to tell me something like that. I…yeah.” Eddie trailed off, an awkward tension beginning to form between the two. Richie nodded, unsure of what else to do. “Well, I-I should probably go. Wife and all. I—yeah. Bye.” Eddie stammered after a few beats of weird silence. Richie nodded again._

_“See ya later, Spaghetti.”_

“Um, how…how did you know, if you don’t mind me asking?” Eddie’s voice cut through Richie’s reverie, bringing him back to the present abruptly. “That you were gay, I mean.” He tacked on, eyes trained on Richie expectantly. He took a few seconds to process Eddie’s question, heavily distracted by how _vulnerable_ Eddie suddenly was. 

_How did I know I was gay?_ Richie thought, crushing his first, pretty much automatic thought. _I saw you._

“I uh. I don’t really know. I guess it was around the time I found out what all the shit Bowers and his gang called me really meant. So also around the time all the boys were expected to start liking girls or whatever. Bill and Ben were obsessing over Beverly, Stan liked that girl in his algebra class, Mike had that girl that worked in the ice cream parlor that he didn’t stop talking about for like three straight weeks and I just…didn’t see the appeal. And then I sort of fell for this boy that I played Street Fighter with when I was avoiding Bill and things went horribly wrong so I ignored it until about college, and yeah. That’s basically it.” He said, only half making it up. Eddie didn’t need to know that at age twelve, Richie realized that he wanted in Eddie what Han Solo wanted in Princess Leia, or that at age thirteen he had carved their initials into the kissing bridge after experiencing the first heartbreak of his life. The risk analyst sipped his beer, studying Richie with an unreadable expression. 

“Wow, shit, okay. I don’t…that never happened to me, I don’t think. I mean, when I was in Derry. But college…” He trailed off, eyes unfocused as if he were envisioning his college. “I’m starting to think I didn’t just ‘admire’ Max Greene.” He focused back in with a slightly forced chuckle, an air of embarrassment to his words. Richie nodded in understanding.

“So you didn’t, like, do anything in college, just crushes and stuff?” He asked, hoping he wasn’t crossing any boundaries that he wasn't seeing. Well, he did need glasses for a reason. Eddie didn’t reply and instead avoided eye contact in favor of his half-filled glass. Richie blanched. “You _did?_ College Eddie got some? Eds! What?!” He exclaimed with an incredulous laugh. Eddie turned a deep shade of red. 

“Don’t call it that, it was only like two guys and I never even went all the way with either of them. One was just one night, anyway. The other was just making out in his dorm every once in a while. He’d always say he was too drunk to remember what happened and I always felt kind of awful about it afterwards, anyway. Then I met Myra my senior year and I just…stopped. It was nothing.” Eddie mumbled into his cup, chugging the rest of its contents mercilessly. 

“Wait, so you married her even though you knew you were gay? Why would you do that, Eds, that’s like…setting yourself up for unhappiness.” Richie commented distractedly, still catching up with the fact that Eddie was _gay_. Into dudes. Strictly dickly. In New York, getting drinks with him. 

“Well why haven’t you come out? Started writing your own stuff? Without all the fake girlfriends and shit.” Eddie half-snapped. Then, softly, mumbled the familiar “I don’t like it when you call me Eds.” Richie studied his glass, slightly grimacing.

“That’s not the same and you know it. Plus, I’m…working on it.” He mumbled. Eddie made a “hmph” sound beside him.

“Why isn't it the same? We both did it for the same reason. Plus, at least I have the excuse that I wasn’t even sure if I _was_ gay. You can’t patronize me.” He said pointedly. Richie looked at him coldly.

“That doesn’t make sense, Eddie. What about the stuff you did in college. How were you still unsure after that?” He commented, hating the animosity in his voice. He wasn’t mad at Eddie, not by a long shot, but he was frustrated that he couldn’t exactly understand something that Eddie made seem so simple. He downed the rest of his beer, ignoring the urge to get something stronger in him.

“Just because I did that stuff doesn’t mean that I was satisfied, Richie. It made me hate myself because of how much I liked it and…it didn’t make me feel _whole_ , you know?” He asked. Richie did know. Every time he wasn’t with Eddie, couldn’t touch him, talk to him, Richie knew. Every time he looked at Eddie now or after the battle was over and felt like he wasn’t telling him something, he knew. Every day he went without being able to talk about his life freely and make the jokes he wanted to, he knew. 

“Oh. Maybe part of it was the guys, too? I mean, you probably didn’t even know if you _had_ a type back then, it’s understandable if you got with guys you weren’t necessarily into completely. Plus, guys that claim they were ‘so drunk’ are assholes anyway, it’s not like that was the best experience you could’ve had for your first time doing anything with guys.” He offered, voice losing all hints of frustration. Eddie looked at him tentatively, lips set in a thin line. For a second, he thought Eddie’s eyes flitted down to his lips for a moment, but chalked it up to a hallucination, probably induced by the buzzing energy of the bar around them.

“Yeah,” he replied, voice soft. “Maybe.” For a few seconds, they stayed looking at each other in silence, The Cranberries playing faintly over the loud hum of the bar patrons from an unknown source. Then Eddie gave a wry smile, looking sort of to the left of Richie’s eyes. “You have a piece of fuzz in your hair, doofus.” He said, stroking Richie's hair slightly to get whatever it was out. Richie tried his best not to melt right then and there. Eddie held a little piece of red fuzz up to the light, studying it in fascination. Richie took it with his pointer and thumb, ignoring the way his heart jumped in his chest when he and Eddie’s fingers brushed together ever so slightly.

“Huh. Oh, it’s probably from one of the sweaters I tried on before deciding on this.” He said, dropping the fuzz to the bar floor and gesturing to his outfit while wiggling his eyebrows up and down, mock-seductive. Eddie looked unimpressed. 

“You went through multiple outfits before deciding on…that.” He said, looking Richie up and down with a raised eyebrow. Richie barked a laugh, reviewing the outfit. Worn out jeans, even more worn out black converse, a purple t-shirt with a checkered button down over it, only the top few buttons undone, and an open green hoodie over that. Definitely not the sheek/caj expensive look that Eddie had accomplished, but not _awful._

“What, you don’t think this is runway-worthy? Red carpet material?” He joked, showing off the ensemble in various exaggerated model-ish positions. Eddie laughed. “Okay, what about this?” He said, taking off the green sweatshirt and modeling again. Eddie pretended to look like a pensive critic before laughing a little.

“Dude, that shirt is way too big for you. How about just the t-shirt? It’s a nice color, actually.” Eddie mused. Richie raised his eyebrows before conceding, not entirely comfortable with wearing a well-fitting shirt without anything over it. It was no secret that Richie was sort of insecure about his body, especially when wearing clothes that he thought fit tightly. Still, he unbuttoned the checkered shirt that really was a little too big, even he could admit, and laid it in his lap for lack of a better place to put it. When he looked back up, Eddie was staring at him. Richie looked down at his chest to see if there was something wrong, like the t-shirt had somehow gotten stained or ripped when he wasn’t looking, but nothing was there. He felt his cheeks begin to warm when Eddie still didn’t make eye contact. Feeling immensely small, like he was an organism in a Petri dish under Eddie’s scientific scrutiny, he started to put the button down back on.

“I’m just—you’re kinda staring at me…in like a _weird_ way, so I’m just gonna…put it back on, I don’t really—”

“No!” Eddie grabbed Richie’s wrist with lightning speed, letting go just as fast. “I mean—it looks good, you look good. I was right. As per usual.” He explained, regaining his composure quickly. Richie looked at him with amused confusion, studying the way his neck blushed a deep scarlet. In a stroke of bad luck, shortsightedness, and not thinking before acting, Richie said “well, I still can’t compare to you, Eds” and lightly pinched his non-scarred cheek in a manner that was much more flirtatious and affectionate than he had expected. This happened to occur just as a particularly unfriendly looking man walked by. Richie heard him mutter a word under his breath that Richie hadn’t been called in probably twenty years. He saw Eddie’s face change from shocked to angry in a millisecond and randomly thought of the old woman Maturin’s words. Thinking fast, Richie called after the guy before Eddie could, knowing that he would probably do or say something that could potentially cause a full-on bar fight. It wasn’t that Richie thought Eddie was incapable of defending himself and/or Richie, it was just that he wanted the least amount of attention on him just in case somebody in the crowded bar recognized him. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with any new TMZ type bullshit, he’d already had to go through everything surrounding his infamous retreat to Derry.

“You can call me whatever you want and I’ll still be me, dude.” He recited casually, nearly grinning when the guy stopped in his tracks. When he looked back at Eddie, who’s expression had gone back to shock. “Sorry, I know you wanted to deal with that asshole, I just didn’t want—”

“Watch out Rich.” Eddie said, still in a shocked daze. Richie turned around and saw that the stranger was coming back. Shit. The people around him had sort of pushed back, observing his and Richie’s every move. 

“What did you just call me?” He said gruffly, trying and failing to pull off some sort of intimidation. Richie almost laughed. If this guy knew what he had survived. 

“Look, dickhead, I clearly wasn’t talking to you, so I don’t wanna hear it. Just go away, man.” Richie replied, almost sounding like a stereotypical bored teenager. The man’s face contorted into a grimace, turning an angry red. He was a thick guy, kind of pot bellied, with a beard in desperate need of some manscaping. 

“Oh, you wanna go? Huh?” He challenged immaturely. Richie remained calm. 

“I literally just said I didn’t. Please leave me and my friend alone.” He replied darkly. The guy’s attention switched to Eddie and his glare turned from ticked off to downright malicious, re-awakening something in Richie. It was the feeling he used to get whenever he planned a new way to distract the Bowers Gang from Eddie, or when he threw the rock at Pennywise and called it a sloppy bitch, or when anyone merely looked at Eddie the wrong way. This time, though, he didn’t plan on getting punched. Or put in the Deadlights. In a surprisingly swift motion, he stood up and cut the man’s line of sight off, moving in front of Eddie protectively. Richie hadn’t been able to tell the guy’s height from the barstool, but he was pleased to find that he was much shorter than Richie, maybe even an inch or two below Eddie. A flash of surprise and almost undetectable fear flickered in the stranger’s eyes. Richie turned his head slightly to the side as if he were a scientist studying a rare specimen. 

“Oh. Didn’t expect me to be 6’2, huh?” He said with a slight grin, taking a step forward. A few people from the gathering crowd laughed lightly. Probably against his will, the asshole took a step back. Richie dropped his voice, hoping the crowd that had gathered couldn’t hear his next words. “I know I may not look it, but if you so much as _look_ at him again, I can and will kick your sorry ass. Now, I’m only going to say it one more time. Go away and leave us _alone_.” He growled. He hadn’t even realized he’d been walking forward, but the guy was now closer to where the crowd spilled into the vicinity of the physical bar than he was to Eddie. The man looked at Richie with another attempt at scariness. 

“You damn snowflake SJWs are gonna be the downfall of this country.” He said loudly, as if he were waiting for someone to agree with him. Nobody in the crowd responded. Richie just stepped closer. Finally, the man made his retreat, cursing at various patrons that were staring at him as he left. Richie let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding and returned to his usual posture, not even having realized that he’d straightened his back and put his shoulders back so his chest was sort of puffed out. For a moment, the bar was silent, save for the Radiohead song that had taken over for The Cranberries. 

Then, someone from the crowd called out, “Hey, aren’t you that comedian guy?” Richie was brought back to earth and looked out across the crowd, which murmured lightly, still suspended in shocked quiet. Somebody in the front was filming with their phone. Richie had the faint, childish urge wave at the camera. Shit. So much for staying under the radar. “Um.” Was all he could muster, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Hey, yeah,” someone else chimed. “You’re Richie Tozier, right?” The voice said. _Fuck._ Suddenly, Eddie was at Richie’s side with his sweatshirt and button down. 

“I asked the bartender if we could use the back door, follow me.” He whispered, eyes twinkling. Richie nodded and followed him hastily, ignoring as the crowd began to babble and his name began to get thrown around more than he would prefer. They quickly made it to Eddie’s car, which was thankfully closer, and Richie put his sweatshirt on and used the hood as the best concealment he could manage. Once in the car, Richie stared forward and took a breath. Eddie did the same. _Shit, fuck, this is not good._

“Quick thinking, Eds, thanks for saving my ass back there.” Was what all said. Eddie stayed silent for a moment. 

“No, holy fuck, thank _you._ Did you see the way that guy looked at me? I was convinced I was going to get pummeled. My night in checkered armor.” He said, laughing in a way that only sounded a little bit crazy and pointing to the button down in Richie’s hand. The comedian took another breath. 

“He’s probably gay, honestly. Like, internalized homophobia or whatever? I wouldn’t be surprised at least.” He commented flatly, still in a little shock from the sequence of events he’d just gone through. Eddie snorted. 

“Henry Bowers.” He replied knowingly. Richie broke out into a sudden fit of laughter that Eddie joined, the tension of the situation breaking. 

“Shit, you’re so right! No man that takes _that_ much care of a mullet could be straight. Oh my god, how did I not realize it before? Him and Patrick Hockstetter were totally fucking on the side and you can’t convince me otherwise.” He babbled through giggles, causing Eddie to laugh harder. As their laughter eventually died down, Richie remembered that he unfortunately had this new problem to deal with. “I have to call my manager.” He said softly, becoming tense once more. 

“Wait.” Eddie’s voice stopped him from pulling out his phone. “Richie, there’s something I have to tell you.” He said, almost ashamed. He didn’t make eye contact. A strange feeling overcame Richie. Was this it? The secret that the Losers had been keeping from him since Derry? The secret that kept him up at night more than once? Something told Richie that it was. Just then, his phone rang. 

“Shit, sorry.” He said, pulling it out of his pocket nervously. Steve couldn’t have heard about what happened _that_ fast, right? He stared at the caller ID for a few beats, the phone still ringing. It wasn’t Steve. In his peripheral, he noticed Eddie looking at him. 

“Who…?” Richie looked up at him, eyebrows drawn together. Eddie regarded him with slight concern. Richie realized he should probably respond. 

“It’s Stan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading :D


	7. Hate To See You Go, Love To Watch You Leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for slur use, only once about halfway through, but other than that it’s a fairly mellow chapter, kinda long haha. Hope you like it!

Richie had to physically shake his head to come out of his shocked dissociation. He quickly accepted the call with one hand and clumsily put his seatbelt on with the other. 

“Stan the Man, holy shit! Hey!” He said, probably a little too loudly. He looked at Eddie, trying to mentally communicate to step on the gas, literally and figuratively. Thankfully, they still seemed to have the gift of silent communication that they had developed at a young age, so Eddie got the message and started the car. 

“Richie, hey. You sound stressed, are you busy or something?” Stan asked. Richie paused. He hadn’t heard Stan’s voice in twenty five years. Richie’s chest suddenly felt heavy and his eyes burned, though he willed his tears away. 

“No, Stanny, I’m just making a quick getaway with Eddie from a bar that I almost got in a fight in, it doesn’t matter.” He tried to sound casual. Eddie glanced at him. 

“Oh, you’re with Eddie?” Stan asked in an unidentifiable tone. “Are guys finally together? Fucking finally, holy shit, I thought you’d never tell him. Mike owes me fifteen dollars, I don’t care if it’s been twenty seven years. This is real—”

“Woah now there Uris, I’m not—we’re not—sorry to burst your bubble, babe, but I just talked to Eddie for the first time since Derry like last week.” He cut Stan off with a nervous laugh. 

“What’s he saying?” Eddie whispered excitedly beside him. 

“He thought we’ve been fucking.” Richie whispered back with a grin, unable to suppress  the urge to make Eddie blush any chance he could get. What could he say, he was an indulgent guy with not much he was allowed to indulge in. He had to learn how to appreciate the little things. 

“Don’t call it that.” Eddie and Stan said in unison, getting Richie to bark a loud laugh. The cute way Eddie couldn't seem to hide the smile in his eyes as his cheeks visibly warmed was enough to keep the butterflies in Richie’s stomach fluttering for days. For a moment he was gripped with such an intense wave of emotions, most love or love-adjacent, that he zoned out completely.

“Rich?” Stanley’s voice brought him back just as quickly.

“Yeah, I’m here, sorry. What’s going on with you, Stanny? Everything…alright?” Richie  asked cautiously. Stan laughed lightly on the other end. Eddie shot him a look that he deciphered as  _ put him on speaker phone, asshole, I feel like a third wheel.  _

“I’m good, Richie, I just wanted to say sorry about not…I just know it was probably rough having the only communication between us be my letter explaining why I…took a bath. I listened to your messages and I figured I’d finally end your suffering.” Stan said with a sad laugh. The air in the car felt heavy. Richie hummed and looked out the window. He didn’t know where they were going, but the awful traffic gave him time to observe the older, very wealthy looking woman walking the tiniest dog he’d ever seen outside on the sidewalk. She was quickly replaced by a young man that looked like he’d had a rough day. He was wearing a loose tank top despite the biting breeze that Richie knew was blowing. 

“No, no I get it. It’s…it’s a tough situation. I’m just glad you’re okay. Or, I don’t know if you’re  _ okay  _ okay, I don’t really know how this stuff works, but I guess I mean that you’re  _ ali— _ ” Richie was cut off by Stan laughing, less sad this time.

“Richie, it’s fine. I’m okay. We don’t have to talk about it. Knowing you, you’re probably more beat up about this than I am. You don’t have to worry anymore, man, I’m gonna be back to one hundred percent before you know it.” He said with a knowing chuckle. Richie nodded, shaking the uncomfortable feeling from his bones. 

“Wait,” Richie knitted his eyebrows after a few beats of slightly awkward silence. “Did you say Mike would owe you  _ money  _ if Eddie and I were actually boning or something? Were you guys…betting on our gayness?” He shot accusingly. Eddie made a surprised noise in the back of his throat, something in between an ‘ahem’ and a squeak. 

“Weren’t _you_ running from a bar that you almost got into a fight in?” Stan countered. Richie raised his eyebrows.

“Stan! Don’t evade the question! I can’t believe you…” Richie couldn’t contain his  laughter. He’d wanted to seem stern, but this was so very  _ Stanley _ that he couldn’t save face. “I can’t believe you and Mike—I mean,  _ Mike _ ? He’s the last—I would’ve expected this from Bev or even Bill maybe, but not  _ Mike _ .” He managed out between laughs. Eddie was still silent and blushing. 

“We were like fourteen! Don’t judge us.” Stan said in defensive amusement. “We just thought that since you guys were so close and never really had that kind of thing with anyone else, you know, that maybe…” He trailed off, slightly drowned out by Richie’s loud laugh. He wouldn’t admit that part of him was laughing to try to eradicate the ache in his chest that the whole notion brought on. He felt like Tantalus and the fruit tree, able to be so close (or rather  _ have bee _ n so close) to Eddie that they appeared to be lovers but never actually getting the real thing. 

“No, Stanthony, I don’t think I’d—Eddie was my best friend, I wouldn’t—” Richie was cut off bye Eddie, who’s tone had changed substantially. He sounded pained, but not physically. 

“Where are we going, Richie? Sorry, I didn’t mean to cut you off, I just don’t wanna drive aimlessly until you figure out what you’re gonna do about the bar situation.” He said bitterly, sounding as if he absolutely had meant to cut Richie off. Almost cautious, he side-eyed Eddie discreetly, trying to piece together what had changed. He was gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles had gone white. 

“It’s alright, Rich, I’ll leave you to your running away or whatever you’re doing. You can tell me the story later.” He said, almost sounding wise. Richie thought back to the clubhouse. 

_ Do you think we’ll all still be friends when we’re older? _

“Alright Staniel, always a pleasure. Thanks for calling.” He said, hoping Stan realized how genuine he felt. 

“Bye Stanley.” Eddie said distractedly, eyes focused on the very slow moving cars in front of him. Stan said his goodbyes and the call disconnected. Richie had to figure out what was going on with Eddie. 

“Where’r we headed, Rich, I need a destination.” He rushed before Richie could say anything. 

“Uhh, my place? If you want, I mean. I feel like we barely had time to catch up before I fucked everything over.” He mumbled the last sentence disappointedly, praying to god that Eddie would want to stay with him for just a little longer. He didn’t want their only interaction to last less than half an hour before another three months of radio silence, which was always a possibility. “I could make you dinner.” He tacked on hopefully. Eddie’s tense look softened a little. 

“You didn’t fuck anything over, Richie, you stood up for yourself and…and me. It was actually pretty badass.” He admitted, avoiding eye contact. 

“Oh my god, Eddie? Eddie Kaspbrak? Are you there? Or have you been replaced by a really nice alien doppelgänger that actually thinks Richie Tozier is cool?” Richie hoped the affectionate banter would bring Eddie back from whatever weird, muddled state of mind he was in. 

“You’re awful. I try to be an honest friend that’s not afraid to call people out on their shit, you tease me. I try actually being nice and give real, genuine compliments and you still tease me! I can’t win.” He said, finally glancing over at Richie, the familiar playfully argumentative spark from when they were kids returning to his eye. Richie couldn’t hide his excitement that Eddie was willing to no longer brood, but he did still feel a slight underlying current of tension. 

“Oh, come on Eds, you love it.” He nudged Eddie slightly, pleased to be gratified with a sigh and an eye roll. 

“Unfortunately, I do. Don’t call me that. And, before you say anything stupid, I also would love dinner, what’s your address?” He said, a sudden air of giddiness overtaking Richie before he remembered the conversation he’d have to have with Steve. 

“Sweet, gimme your phone.” He said, a little less excited but still buzzing with  incredulous joy. Eddie Kaspbrak was going to  _ his place.  _ For dinner that  _ he’d make for the two of them.  _ It wasn’t necessarily the candlelit dinner by the seaside at a restaurant with a dress code that Richie sometimes let himself envision late at night, but it was good enough for him. He’d take Eddie how he could, even if it was just as friends. Eddie raised an eyebrow skeptically. “I’ll just put it with my contact so you won’t have to ask me if you ever wanna come over again.” He explained, though it took a few seconds of silence for Eddie to be convinced. 

“Don’t do anything weird with it.” He warned, handing his phone over. Richie, instead of asking Eddie for the password, punched in a set of numbers that he knew Eddie would use for something like that. Unsurprised, he got it on the first try. Eddie looked at him with a mix of surprise, concern, and suspicion. “How did you—”

“Chillax, Eddie baby,” Richie felt his own cheeks warm right as the nickname slipped. He hadn’t forgotten about it, he just had been trying to avoid it. Whoops. “I haven’t been stalking you, though I’m sure that would be loads of fun given your wild and crazy life—”

“Fuck you, jerk-face.”

“—but I do have surprisingly good skills of deduction. I do pay attention sometimes, you know.” He offered with a grin. Eddie shifted a little in his seat. “It’s okay, Eds, I think it’s nice.” The password was Eddie’s late father’s birthday. Richie remembered the night he and Eddie had stayed up late at one of their sleepovers, one of the first where they dared to break the rules and stay up past curfew, around nine years old. Richie couldn’t believe he was friends with someone with a dead dad. He remembered thinking Eddie was halfway to being Batman. Richie found his contact and put in his address, saying it aloud as he typed so Eddie could navigate. The only problem getting to his apartment was that neither of them knew where the fuck they were, but with much bickering and Richie laughing at Eddie whenever he snapped at him, they made it in about forty minutes. The sun was basically all the way down by the time they got there.

“Welcome to my humble abode, my good friend. Mi casa es su casa.” Richie said in a stereotypical Bill and Ted-ish voice upon entry. He couldn’t help but smile as Eddie looked around the apartment curiously, almost like he wanted to get used to it. 

“Nice place. Surprisingly.” He admonished, wandering over to Richie’s bookshelf of  vinyls. “Except I’m pretty sure it’s legitimately illegal to have Nine Inch Nails, Edith Piaf, and The Supremes records in that consecutive order. How…Richie, what is this organized by?” Eddie looked at Richie with such deep concern that he couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m serious! Like...it’s not alphabetical or by genre or artist, right? It’s  _ definitely _ not by color. What-what-what’s the process here?” Eddie became increasingly exasperated as he looked through one of the rows of records. “Richie! You absolutely  _ cannot  _ have Radiohead next to Abba! I can’t believe this. I’m getting genuinely frustrated with you over this. Why. Why did you do this to me, Rich. John Denver and Rage Against the Machine do not belong together under any circumstances.” He said with wide eyes. Richie could not stop laughing. 

“Ed-Eds, _please,_ I’m going to rupture my spleen. Oh my god. I am so telling the other Losers that upon entering my apartment for the very first time, you first insulted me and complimented me at the same time, then proceeded to have a meltdown about the fact that I don’t organize my vinyls, all within the span of two minutes. Eddie. Oh my god.” Richie had the bizarre urge to pull Eddie, who had turned a little red, into a close hug. He wanted Eddie to listen to his heartbeat as he calmed down from laughing so hard. 

“Okay, first of all, I don’t remember insulting you—”

“It was the ‘ _surprisingly,_ ’ Eds. You surprised that I actually manage to take care of myself on my own?” Richie moved closer and sat/leaned on the back of the couch with crossed arms and a raised eyebrow. Eddie’s eyes darted to the floor in embarrassment. Richie felt a little bad for coming off accusatory, especially since it was a lie. He didn’t know where he’d be without his manager and his therapist, not to mention Bev, who often put up with his various laments over the phone. 

“N-no, I mean—that’s not—I guess I just didn’t expect it to be so  _ clean. _ ” He admitted, joining Richie’s side and studying the bookcase (recordcase?) as a whole. Richie let himself fall into the familiar process of what he called appreciating Eddie, refusing to admit that he was checking him out. He looked at the way his eyelashes were reflected in shadow on his cheeks, the portrait-like form of his side profile, the thin scar on his cheek that looked completely healed but was probably still tender, at least if touched the wrong way. He looked at the way Eddie’s Adam’s apple stuck out, maybe even more prominent than his own, the faint crow’s feet at the corner of Eddie’s eye, his smile lines. Richie wanted to hold his hand, kiss him until neither of them could see straight, drink in the sound of a zipper going down. Richie looked away quickly, unsure of when he had gotten to that point. 

“Yeah. My closets are a mess, though. D’you mind if I put something on?” He said as he kicked himself for letting his thoughts get out of hand, gesturing to the record collection. Eddie shrugged. 

“It’s your house.” Was all he said. Richie put on a T. Rex album and quickly went into the kitchen, planning on not looking at Eddie unless absolutely necessary for the rest of the night. Or at least until dinner was ready. 

“Alright, I know it’s technically cannibalism for you, but we are having spaghetti because it’s the best I can make on short notice and also the most dinner-y thing I currently have.” Richie said as he got out the supplies for making the meal. Eddie snorted behind him. 

“Still telling the same jokes, I see.” He said flatly. Richie turned around, strainer in hand, already breaking his No Looking at Eddie rule. 

“And yet I’m still the funniest guy you know.” He replied pointedly. Eddie opened his mouth to protest but Richie cut him off, grinning a little. “You’re a risk analyst, Eds, I can say that with confidence.” He grinned with a wink, why did he  _ wink?  _ Eddie made a scandalized noise.

“You are most definitely _not_ , I surround myself with _quality_ friends.” He said. Richie looked at him doubtfully. 

“I dunno about that, Eds, I am  _ badass  _ after all. You’re words, not mine. Speaking of friends, actually, what’s goin’ on with your living situation? You got a place to stay?” Richie rushed awkwardly. He couldn’t believe what he was considering. He could  _ not  _ ask Eddie if he wanted to stay with him. He just couldn’t! He was too in love and the stakes were too high and Eddie would probably, no,  _ definitely _ get sick of him real fast and he wouldn’t be able to handle it if they re-became friends only for Eddie to realize that Richie was actually a shit person. It was probably better if they just saw each other every once in a while, right? So whenever they met up, it was like a special occasion, something to look forward to. Richie would rather have that than a strained, uncomfortable relationship where they saw each other every day. 

“I’ve been staying with a…friend.” Eddie said shyly. Something about the pause before ‘friend’ made Richie’s stomach churn. He decided, like with most bad feelings, to mask it with humor, looking at Eddie suggestively. 

“Ah, is this a regular friend or a  _ friend, _ ” he wiggled his eyebrows up and down, “kind of  friend?” Eddie blushed and Richie’s bad feeling became worse. So Eddie  _ had  _ done stuff— _ romantic  _ stuff—since the divorce. Any unrealistic hopes that Richie might’ve had flew out the window. He tried not to let it show. 

“No, no, nothing like that, I’m just pretty sure he’s ready to kick me to the curb any minute. Turns out we don’t get along as much outside of work as we do inside. I’ve been looking at places, though.” Eddie admitted, taking a seat at the kitchen table cautiously. Richie raised his eyebrows and went back to chopping half a green pepper for the sauce. 

“Well if you want, you could…you could stay with me. Y’know, just for while you’re looking for places. Give that poor guy a break.” He said more humorously than he felt, going against everything he’d been telling himself. Eddie was silent at first and it took everything in Richie’s power not to turn around again to see his expression. He had peppers to chop. 

“Um, wow, okay. I mean, I don’t know. I…can I think about it?” Eddie sounded genuinely surprised. Richie still didn’t turn around. 

“Yeah, for sure dude. Just an idea. I have a pull-out couch, so it’s not like…I could easily  accommodate you, is what I’m saying.” Richie choked out with attempted nonchalance.  _ The fuck was that? ‘Easily accommodate you’? What are you, a hotel clerk? Dipshit.  _ Eddie laughed softly behind him. 

“Alright. Thanks, Rich.” He said. Richie could hear his smile. Eddie had a great smile. Richie’s phone buzzed in his pocket and the memory of the bar incident and the call he needed to make flooded in. 

“Shit, I uh, I just remembered I gotta call my manager. If anything catches on fire or the  water boils over or something, give me a holler. And if you snoop around, don’t be too surprised if you find any weird shit, it  _ is _ my apartment we’re talking about.” He said, almost winking again but catching himself and instead doing finger guns, which was probably miles more awkward. Eddie rolled his eyes but gave a thumbs up, pulling out his own phone as Richie turned and retreated into his office. 

“Steve, I can explain.” He said once he got Steve on the phone after reading the ominous  text he’d sent.  _ We need to talk _ , was all it had said. 

“Look, Richie, I’m not gonna say you’re a genius, but you must have had a fleeting  moment of brilliance because holy shit.” Steve said excitedly over Richie.  _ What??  _

“Um. Are we talking about the same thing here? I feel like we’re not.” He replied flatly. 

“That video? Of you standing up to that asshole? Richie, it’s already up to like forty thousand views and climbing on Twitter. And I know for a fact it’s gonna be reposted to other places if it hasn’t already been. I’m sure you’ll be trending by tomorrow morning.” Steve said with the fervor of a little kid talking about Minecraft. Why was he  _ excited _ ?

“I’m sorry, Stevie, but I’m still trying to figure out how this is a good thing, what am I missing?” Richie asked, becoming increasingly confused and, frankly, exasperated. 

“People are  _ talking  _ about you, Rich. In a  _ good  _ way. I mean, obviously you’ve got people like that asshole talking too, but the majority wants to know, like, everything about you. Again, in a good way. I don’t know how you pulled this off, but it was really fuckin’ smart, dude. Did you get someone to record it or something? How did you come  _ up _ with this, man?” Richie realized with slight horror that Steve thought this was something he had orchestrated, a PR stunt. 

“I—Steve, I didn’t  _ want _ this to happen. This wasn’t intentional. He called me a faggot and got mad when I had the audacity to…stand up for myself. For once.” Richie explained tiredly. Steve didn’t seem to care for the  _ why  _ of the situation, though. 

“Well it worked wonders, Rich. It complicates a few things, but above anything this is…yeah, this is good. You know what this means, right? You’re going to get to do what you want! Write your own stuff, coming out, all that shit. There’s no way they can force you to stick with your old material after this.” He said. This did spark some interest in Richie. Things were going to start moving a little faster than he’d prefer, but he’d rather have them moving at all than stay in the same place he’d been in for the last twelve years. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess I’ll look into it, test the waters or whatever. See what people are saying.” Richie looked towards the closed door of his office and chewed the inside of his cheek. He had the childish urge to burst into the kitchen and tell Eddie what had happened, tell him that he’d get to be who he wanted both in and out of the spotlight. “But look, I’m making dinner and the water’s probably boiling, so I just—yeah, I gotta go. Thanks for telling me, though. You’re right, this…this is good. We can talk more later.” He said distantly, barely hearing Steve’s goodbye and the mechanical beep of the call ending. For a moment, he just stood silently in the middle of his office, breathing deeply. He couldn’t help but smile. He opened the door and only walked a few steps to the kitchen before he stopped in his tracks. Eddie was talking, hushed. 

“Yes, I know I said I would tell him, but I-I can’t, okay?” Was what Richie heard first. He knew that eavesdropping wasn’t the nicest thing he could do, but it was like he was cemented to the floor. Eddie continued after a pause. “He asked me to stay with him, Bev. And…and I think I’m gonna say yes. I just…this would just mess it all up and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t know what he saw in the Deadlights, Bev, and I’m…what if I bring it up and it triggers him or something? I don’t want to lose him again. I really,  _ really _ want this, Bevvy. I want to be his friend again. You of all people should know how much I need it.” Eddie whispered sharply. Richie assumed that whenever he paused, it was because Bev was talking. “Yes, and how much he needs it. See, I knew you knew.” Eddie’s voice softened a little. “Alright, I promise. Yes, once I find a place. Okay, the water’s boiling. Okay. Love you too, Beverly. Bye.” Eddie clicked his own call shut. Richie still couldn’t move, Eddie’s words still settling into his brain.  _ Woah _ . “Richie, water’s ready!” Eddie’s shout startled him so much he jumped a little. He tried to compose himself as he strode into the kitchen with what he hoped appeared as a casual swagger. 

“What, you couldn’t put the spaghetti in yourself, Spaghetti?” He asked with a wry grin. Eddie rolled his eyes. So they were both pretending the conversation Richie had just overheard didn’t happen. 

“I’m your guest, asshole. Plus, you told me to tell you.” Eddie said pointedly. Richie only laughed, hoping it didn’t sound too fake. He wished he could bring it up, confront Eddie about the secret that seemingly all the other Losers were in on. All except Richie, of course. 

“Okay, so catching up.” Eddie said as he twirled the spaghetti with his fork after Richie was done making the meal. “Tell me about what it was like after I left. High school, I mean.” He gestured with the forkful before taking the bite. Richie swallowed his own. 

“It was pretty bleak, dude. Bill left not too long after. Bullying didn’t stop even though Bowers and Hockstetter were gone. I went to prom with Bev, Ben, and Stan as a group.” Richie said, remembering the night solemnly. It had been sad for all the wrong reasons. “It wasn’t good, obviously. Afterwards, Bev and I…” Richie contemplated telling Eddie before deciding there was no going back. “We almost uh…y’know.” He waved his fork in an ambiguous way. Eddie’s eyes widened, not needing the full explanation. Richie was glad their powers of silent communication still existed after 27 years of separation. 

“You and Bev? Like, like _you_? And _Beverly_? Beverly Marsh?” He asked, not bothering to mask his shock. Richie was glad that his own light laugh was genuine. He was getting sick of the tension he’d created himself after hearing Eddie on the phone. 

“Yeah, yep. Me and Beverly Marsh. It didn’t work out for obvious reasons, but if it had I would’ve lost my virginity to one of the most famous American fashion designers of today. I freaked out though, like full on hyperventilating, rocking back and forth kind of panic attack. Again, obvious reasons. It was awkward as fuck, but I like to think it strengthened our bond as friends.” He said somewhat philosophically. Eddie laughed. “What about you, what was moving like?” Richie shoved his fork into his spaghetti, unable to perfect his twirl like Eddie seemed to have done. 

“Awful. Didn’t remember you within the hour of crossing into Vermont, though, so I guess that made it a little less awful. Finished high school second in my class, went to college, met Myra. Sonia died a little after I graduated, massive heart attack. After that I got way more into fitness and health and shit, I became really fuckin’ anxious. It sucked. Myra didn’t help.” Eddie didn’t seem to really like relaying this information, his eyes dimming. Richie didn’t blame him. 

“Mm. How long were you with her?” He asked, peering at Eddie cautiously as he gave a humorless chuckle. 

“Seventeen years. Married for twelve.” He confessed somewhat sheepishly. Richie looked at him in disbelief. 

“Holy shit. A toast to you, man, a veteran.” He said, laughing a little as he raised his wine glass. Eddie gave a slightly pitying laugh but returned the toast anyway. They caught up more throughout the dinner, and Richie was more than pleased when Eddie laughed harder than he had all day at his story about when he worked at a movie theater when he lived in Chicago. 

“Hey, uh, do you want to watch a movie or something? I still miss you.” Richie asked after they were done, hoping he didn’t sound too yearn-y. Eddie got up and put his plate in the sink without Richie asking him, putting on his coat after. Richie tried not to look too hurt. 

“Nah, I should probably get going. I’ve got some emails I’ve been meaning to clear out. But I uh…I might take you up on your offer. About staying with you, I mean. We can work out the details later, if you want, but I figured I’d just…let you know now.” Eddie said, cheeks reddening ever so slightly. Even though Richie already knew because of Eddie’s phone call to Bev, he still felt his heart jump a little at the notion. Eddie  _ staying  _ with him, sleeping on  _ his  _ couch. 

“‘Kay, I’ll walk you outside. I became a very respectable gentleman in the past twenty five years, actually.” Richie said with a grin. Eddie rolled his eyes. Outside, Richie faced Eddie after making sure the coast was clear, still smiling. Excluding the secret-keeping going on with Eddie and the other Losers, the night had actually been really nice. 

“God, fuck you Richie. Stop being so tall.” Eddie shoved his hands in the pockets of his definitely designer jeans and glared up at Richie, getting him to laugh. He pretended not to notice when Eddie’s eyes flicked down to his chest, causing a lovely warmth to pool in his stomach and spread underneath his skin, seep into his bones. It felt too good. “Alright—oh shit, your car!” Eye gasped, startling Richie into once again feeling the biting chill of the September night. He laughed again after realizing what Eddie was talking about. 

“It’s fine, Eds, my manager can drive me to pick it up. Plus, I don’t really have anywhere to be. I appreciate that you actually care about me, though, kind of a shocker considering my unorganized vinyls are apparently a federal offense in your eyes.” He said, trying not to audibly whimper when Eddie nudged him a little. Slo-mo Bro Punch at it again. “Wait,” Richie said as Eddie opened his mouth, presumably to say goodbye. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to tell me? Before Stan called?” He tried. He knew Eddie wasn’t going to tell him, but he figured it was worth a shot. 

“Oh. No, it can wait. But thanks. For everything, I mean.” Eddie’s voice went soft. Richie wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Instead, he just nodded. “I’ll text you. Bye, Rich.” Eddie said, looking Richie up and down with an indecipherable expression. 

“Adiós, Eduardo.” He tried not to sound too sad as he watched Eddie go. “Hate to see you go, love to watch you leave!” He called thoughtlessly with a grin as Eddie made his way to his car. Thankfully, Eddie was used to his bullshit and flipped him off without turning around. “Charming!” Richie said, laughing and watching him leave until he made it to his car. That night, he had a dream about Eddie, like he usually did. This time, though, it didn’t turn into a nightmare. This time, Eddie lived. Yeah. Things were starting to turn up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you things were gonna get better. As always, I’m open for thoughts, questions, etc. Thanks for reading! :)


	8. Have You Ever Seen The Truman Show?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No warnings for this chapter, I hope you like it! Sorry it took so long to post, it’s a hefty one lol

Eddie was “moving in” in one week. It wasn’t that big of a transition, Eddie didn’t really have that much stuff to bring, but his work called for long hours and he needed as much sleep as he could get, so it had to be on a weekend. Richie was elated. Like, couldn’t focus on anything for more than two minutes, unable to sleep, excitedly re-stocking the fridge and pantry with things he thought Eddie would like kind of elated. 

Well, mostly. 

There were a lot of cards stacked against Richie, and he wasn’t sure what he’d do if they  were dealt. For one, he was deeply, painfully in love with the guy that was about to be staying in his house for an undefined amount of time. That fact alone provided a whole host of possible problems. Another thing Richie was worried about was that Eddie was going to be staying with…well,  _ him _ . Richie knew how he was. He could be obnoxious and annoying and sometimes had trouble communicating his feelings and didn’t really know anything about self-care or healthful living or whatever, and he sure as hell didn’t know about the care of others. He had never had a roommate that he really, like deep down to the core of his fundamental existence, liked, and he wasn’t sure if there was any baggage that came with it. He was someone that anybody could easily get tired of, and he  _ really  _ didn’t want Eddie to get tired of him. 

Another potentially disastrous factor was Richie’s very abrupt advancement in his career.  A lot more people knew him now because of that one shaky, tense, less than a minute long video. He’d be busier and probably way more stressed and he didn’t want that to negatively impact Eddie in any way. The guy had almost died twice, got through a messy divorce, had a very demanding job, albeit a good one, and was basically trying to undo a lifetime’s worth of trauma, he didn’t need anymore stress. 

Above everything, there was the secret. Richie, ever the hypocrite, did _not_ like the prospect of keeping secrets. Or rather, people keeping secrets from him. If Fear of Missing Out was a diagnosable condition, Richie would definitely need the prescription for its cure. The overwhelming mix of jealousy and insecurity he felt every time people made plans without him or someone uttered the positively rancid sentence “you just had to be there” was enough to turn him bitter and closed-off. It couldn’t be easy to deal with, and with the whole “Eddie not telling him things” thing going on, he was at high risk of slipping down the spiral of cold isolation. 

So he had a few options: number one was letting the river take its course, wait things out until Eddie found a permanent place and told him what was going on, like he had promised Bev. Option two was a straight-up confrontation with Eddie. Asking him what he was keeping from Richie flat out, basically forcing him into telling him the truth. Option three was probably the sneakiest and least moral. Richie could, hypothetically, do some amateur sleuthing, maybe question the other Losers, figure out what he seemingly wasn’t allowed to know by himself. He knew it wasn’t fair or necessarily the best thing to do if he wanted to keep Eddie as a friend, but it was unfortunately the most appealing option so far no matter how much he argued with himself. He lasted three days ignoring the whole looming thing before he gave in. He decided to call Stan, because he at least wanted to know if  _ all  _ the Losers were in on whatever it was they were keeping from him. Maybe if he wasn’t the only one, he’d feel a little better about it all and drop the investigation. Plus, talking to Stan about it felt a bit less like he was going behind Eddie’s back, something he hated doing more than anything. He’d never actually done it before, when he really thought about it. He was miles from his comfort zone. 

“Hola, Señor Uris, what’s crackin’ buddy?” He opened the conversation with, smiling a little at the sigh on the other end. The Losers may have grown and started their own lives over the years, but when it came to it they were all still exactly that—The Losers Club. 

“What do you want, Richie?” He asked flatly. Richie couldn’t help but chuckle despite his building nerves. 

“How do you know I want something from you? I could just be calling to check up on my pal! How are ya, man?” He said cheerily, more so than he actually felt. Just  _ talking _ to Stan did make him feel a little less sick of being kept in the dark, though, so he wasn’t  _ lying _ . Just…playing things up a little. As he’d always done. Basically his whole fucking life. 

“Richie, you only call me buddy when you want something. What’s going on? No bullshit.” Stan punctuated, not far from monotone. Richie laughed again. Eddie was the love of his life, yes, but Stan was his best friend. Richie’s nightmares weren’t exclusively about Eddie, so anything from Stan—texts, emails, whatever—was somewhat of a relief for Richie. He was glad to have his best friend back.  _ Alive.  _

“I uh…okay, you’re right, I’m sorry, but this has been going on for a while and I want to know if it’s just me.” Richie mentally prepared himself, suddenly unsure of how to explain the situation. Stan waited in silent possibly-patience. Richie took a breath. “Okay, um. Do you…do ever feel like the others, the other Losers I mean, are…keeping something from you? Like, I feel like ever since Derry there’s something they’re not telling me, and I just…if you’re keeping me in the dark, I’m sure it’s for a good reason or whatever, it just kinda sucks. Are—do you know anything about it?” He managed out, squeezing his eyes shut, not entirely sure of which answer he was more afraid of. If it was yes, that meant he was legitimately alone. That even his closest friends were untrustworthy of him when it came from whatever information it was that the Losers, that  _ Eddie _ , didn’t want him knowing. If the answer was no, it meant something had happened in Derry, something involving  _ him _ that he didn’t know about or didn’t remember. That  _ really _ scared the shit out of him, if he was honest. The  _ not _ knowing had always been the worst for Richie, no matter the situation, and the mere possibility of answer number two being…well, The Answer, only solidified the fact. He held his breath in anticipation. 

“I mean, I was in the hospital and then the…the _other_ hospital for a little while, and after that I obviously had to sort everything out with Patty, my work, etcetera, so it’s not like I’ve gotten to spend much quality friend time with the others, but I haven’t noticed anything when we call or whatever. Why, you feel like they’re…keeping secrets from you?” Stan finally replied after an agonizing three seconds. Richie opened his eyes and tried to relax his shoulders. So it was Answer Number Two: something had happened in Derry that he didn’t know about. 

“Not like…I dunno. Ever since Derry 2, The Squeakquel—”

“Richie, please don’t call it that.”

“I need humor to distract myself from my emotions, Stanny boy, you know this.”

“Well I  _ would _ if you were actually funny.”

“Stanley, I need you to listen.” Richie pleaded, sounding a little more desperate than he had intended. Stan fell silent, probably also not expecting Richie to suddenly sound so wracked with hopelessness. “I just—I feel like I’m in my own Truman Show, dude, it’s fucked up. First it was just a feeling, you know? Just a few weird, like,  _ tense _ moments here and there, looks that Bev and Bill and Ben and even Mike were giving each other, but not me. At first I thought it was just them and not Eddie because, I dunno, denial or something, but then he made this weird quick getaway and it just...it didn’t make sense, you know? He was being the same way as the others. Then…I overheard Eddie on the phone, Stan. Like, a week ago-ish, and there’s…there’s definitely something he’s not telling me. As good a movie The Truman Show is, I sure as hell wouldn’t want to be in it. I don’t know what to do.” Richie finally sat down after nearly pacing a trench into the floor of his office, leaning his elbows on his knees nervously. Eddie would probably tell him to sit up, fix his posture.  _ You don’t want to be one of those little old men that’s practically parallel to the ground, Richie _ , he’d say. 

“I see,” Stan spoke up after a few beats of silence. Richie sat up and leaned into the back  of his chair, closing his eyes again as if all his problems would be gone when he opened them back up. “So…so the best way to go about this—in your eyes, that is—is to go behind Eddie’s back? Richie, I know we were fifteen, but you made a promise never to do shit like that. At least about stuff like this.” Stanley sounded disappointed, only slightly, but it was enough to make Richie feel immeasurably guilty. Then, before Richie could respond, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t fair.” It offered some semblance of reassurance, at least. Richie remembered the moment vividly, the Losers all crammed onto Richie’s couch, all of them agreeing with nothing but seriousness that  _ we shouldn’t keep secrets, guys. Or go behind each other’s backs. No bullshit or drama or gossip or whatever. That’s not the Loser way. We gotta stick together.  _

“Look, Richie, I know that this is hard for you. Trust me, I know how you get, but if there’s something he wants to tell you, he probably will at some point. You know, on his own time. He’s not really one to keep secrets from you, so I’m sure it’ll come out eventually.” Stan’s voice was soft. “Who knows, maybe he likes you.” He tacked on after Richie only responded with strained silence. Stan was probably smiling, his optimism making Richie nearly laugh. If Eddie liked him, he probably would’ve already told him…right?

“Don’t give me false hope, Stanny, I don’t think my fragile heart can handle it.” He said mock-sadly. Stan stayed quiet. “Just because we’re both gay and I’ve been head over heels for him for thirty years doesn’t mean he’ll automatically want to be more than friends. He said so when he was on the phone, anyway. He literally said ‘I want to be his friend again.’ That’s like, the opposite of romantic attraction. I’m in the friendzone, Standrew.” Richie said, putting on a cartoony heartbroken voice. Stan laughed lightly. 

“Okay, so tell him how you feel.” He proposed causally. Richie wished that Stan could see the look of “are you literally dumb” he had on his face. 

“Are you free for the rest of the day, because that’s how long it would take for me to list the reasons why that’s a shit idea.” He replied blandly. Stanley audibly sighed. 

“Look man, I’m trying to help you out here. What do you want, Richie?” He sounded exasperated. Richie’s nerves were too frayed to hold his tongue. 

“I want _Eddie._ ” He blurted loudly without thinking. Despite being alone in his apartment, he quickly lowered his voice. “But I’d rather have him around as a friend than fuck things up by telling him how I feel and driving him away or something. Especially if he’s gonna be staying with me. I don’t want to be able to be friends with him again only for my stupid emotions to get in the way.” He spat the word “emotions” as if it tasted bad. Stan sighed again. 

“Alright, Richie, you do you I guess. Be sad for no reason or whatever. I gotta go, it’s date night with Patty I have to iron my clothes. Not that you'd know anything about that.” He said casually, voice slightly tinged with a smile. Richie chuckled, more out of politeness than actual amusement. His elation for Eddie staying with him had waned during the week because of how much he’d let the secret get to him, so he wasn’t exactly feeling himself. 

“Savage. I’m hurt, really. Okay, Mr. The Man, I’ll catch you on the flip side. Be home by ten the latest, and by God, if you can’t control yourself, use protection, son.” He finished in a stern, fatherly voice that was suspiciously close to his actual father’s. Stan actually laughed, if only slightly, and Richie managed out a small smile. They said their goodbyes and Richie was left alone once more. He hadn’t gotten drunk since Eddie had come over the Friday before. He felt kind of bad for breaking the streak. 

Richie stayed up so late he ended up close to sober. After emptying his guts in the bathroom (the beer he had was still really shitty, and he learned the hard way that it wasn’t the best idea to get piss-drunk off of it with nothing else in his system,) he drank some water and became painfully aware that, yeah, he’d basically come full sober-circle without sleeping. It was the secret, he knew, that was keeping him up. Despite that, at around three in the morning he decided he’d try to hit the hay. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he felt like a lovesick, romantically and sexually deprived forty year old guy hanging around his kitchen at 3:00 A.M. post-sad alcohol binge was pretty lame and a little depressing. Not that it was any less lame to be a lovesick, romantically and sexually deprived forty year old guy laying awake in  _ bed _ at 3:00 A.M., but it made him feel a smidge less like a textbook example of What Not To Do In The Search For Happiness. As he studied the muddled nothingness of the ceiling, both glasses-less and in the dark, he finally gave up and let himself think about what Eddie could possibly be keeping from him. The whole reason he’d gotten drunk was to stop himself from doing so, but that clearly didn’t work, so he lowered the drawbridge and drew his eyebrows in concentration. Eddie’s words from his phone call with Bev floated into his mind. 

_ I don’t know what he saw in the Deadlights, Bev… _

The Deadlights…it had to do with him being caught in the Deadlights. Something potentially friendship-ruining, according to Eddie, had occurred while Richie was in the Deadlights. And all the other Losers except for Stan knew about it. Richie wracked his brain, also bringing up the memory of Bev being in the Deadlights 27 years earlier, you know, to compare and contrast. 

So. His Deadlights. He had thrown the rock, called the clown a sloppy bitch, and then suddenly everything was dark. It lasted just for two seconds, but it was a chilling, endless pitch black, accompanied with the most sinking dread he’d felt since Mike’s call, and that was saying something. And then suddenly Eddie was above him, excited, smiling, saying something about killing It, until he wasn’t. Until there was blood coming out of his mouth, his chest, dripping onto Richie, spattering his glasses, and when Eddie looked at him with such shock-turned-sad realization and said “ _ Richie _ ” in such a broken, hopeless voice, Richie knew he wasn’t going to make it. Then he opened his eyes and it was deja vú in real time, Eddie was alive above him, so so close,  _ I think I did, I killed It _ , and Richie had to push himself up and to the side, sending both he and Eddie careening down the side of the rocky almost-hill they had been on just as the clown’s claw came down. Richie replayed the whole scenario again in his mind before thinking about Bev’s encounter with the Deadlights, trying to figure out what was different. Or the same. 

They had pulled Bev down, she was still in the Deadlights, they waited for her to wake up but she didn’t, yadda yadda, then Ben…Ben…Richie bolted upright. He needed to talk to Eddie. 

Richie paced tensely as The Kinks played from his record player. It was Saturday, the day of Eddie’s arrival, and he would finally get to make his confrontation. He had been slightly disappointed when Eddie said he couldn’t meet up until the moving day, but ultimately decided to push through the remaining days of the week without Eddie. He needed to talk to him face to face. The album's side A ended and, as if on cue, a knock sounded at the door. Richie had been expecting Eddie’s arrival of course, he had sent an endearingly long-winded text when he left his coworker’s place, but the knock still startled Richie out of his deep thought. His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest as he swung the door open, revealing an intoxicatingly cute Eddie and his bags. Like a train, the fact that what was about to happen, what he was about to  _ do, _ could go very  _ very  _ wrong hit Richie head-on. “Hey.” He said breathily, taking in Eddie in his entirety just in case what he was planning ruined their friendship forever and caused Eddie to take his matching suitcases elsewhere to never see Richie again. 

“Hey…” Eddie said slowly, his tone a mix of confusion and undeniable curiosity. Richie thoughtlessly stared at him for a few more seconds before reminding himself that he hadn’t fucked everything up yet and that basic rules of etiquette still applied. 

“Uh, come in, sorry.” He said awkwardly, stepping aside and ushering Eddie in. It was clear that Richie wasn’t the only one who felt the tension in the air. 

“Okay, Rich, I gotta bite. What the fuck is going on? You sounded really urgent over the phone the other day and I feel like I did something wrong, which sucks because like, I’m obviously going to be staying with you and I’d feel really bad if I did something to upset you before I even got the chance to ‘move in’ or whatever we’re calling it, and I just—” Richie shook his head and held up a silencing hand. Eddie looked at him, something close to fear in his eyes. Richie knew how he felt. 

“I just…why didn’t you tell me, Eds?” He finally managed out, voice heavy with much more emotion than he had expected. Eddie’s expression melted into complete confusion. Richie bit his lip, suddenly too aware of his sweaty palms. Nervously, he dropped eye contact and found that he couldn’t focus his line of sight on any one thing for more than two seconds. He probably looked a little insane, but there was no going back now. 

“Didn’t tell you what, Rich?” Eddie’s voice was too soft. Richie didn’t need consoling, he needed  _ answers. You need to ask a question to get an answer, dumbass. _

He reminded himself that there was nothing to lose now, even though deep down he knew he had  _ everything  _ to lose. 

“That you kissed me.” 

The silence that filled the air as Eddie blinked slowly, processing Richie’s words, was deafening. Richie fluffed the back of his hair nervously and forced himself back into eye contact, crossing and uncrossing his arms before shoving his hands in his pockets, for lack of anything better to do with them. “I—Richie, I don’t—you—” Eddie stammered, looking much more uncomfortable than Richie had ever wished to make him. 

“I love you, Eddie. I’m not mad—I feel like you think I’m mad about something, but I’m  not. I mean, I was a little mad before because I didn’t know why you’d keep something like this from me, but I got over it pretty quickly. Because I love you. Like, a lot. And not ‘brotherly love’ or ‘you’re such a great friend, dude-bro-man’ love, I mean like I want to wake up next to you every morning even though you wake up at literally seven A.M. and  _ kiss _ you and take you on dates and hold your hand with you a-and have  _ sex _ with you, I mean not like right now obviously, unless you were up for that kinda thing, but at some point in the preferably near future. And I mean, if you  _ weren’t _ into that kinda thing at  _ all _ , I’d be cool with that too, because I  _ really fucking love you.  _ Han and Leia type shit. Since I was like twelve. Or maybe the beginning of time itself. Or the first time I ever saw you. Either way, I love you.” Richie licked his lips nervously. “Sorry, that was kind of a lot to just drop on you like that, but you didn’t tell me that one of the earliest fantasies of Young Richard had come true while I was in magical space clown a coma, so I guess we’re even.” He finished with a sure look despite the blush he felt spreading across his cheeks and the absolute  _ unsureness  _ he felt creeping it’s way through every crack and crevice of his mind.   


Eddie went from looking shocked to looking like he was about to cry in a startlingly subtle shift of expression. Richie wasn’t sure what he would do if that happened. For a second, they just stared at each other, both seemingly unsure of what would happen. Then, so fast Richie almost didn’t see him coming, Eddie rushed forward and pressed the side of his face into Richie’s chest, arms wrapping tightly around his waist. For a second, he didn’t return the hug out of shock, but his brain and body soon caught up with each other and his arms found their place around Eddie. They shifted so Richie could bury his head in the crook of Eddie’s neck and Eddie could rest his chin on Richie’s shoulder. He squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly feeling like  _ he  _ was the one that might cry. After a few seconds (it could have been an hour and Richie wouldn’t want to let go) of hugging in silence, Eddie’s thin voice brought Richie back to earth. 

“I wake up at 6:30.” He said softly, no doubt smiling sincerely. Richie pulled away just enough to make eye contact, arms still wrapped around Eddie so, so tightly, as if either he or Eddie would disintegrate if he let go. 

“Oh, then consider any and all of my previous statements and/or love confessions revoked, that’s a deal breaker babe.” He said flatly, ignoring the tears in his eyes. Eddie laughed and shook his head before pulling him into the kiss he’d been craving since…well, for as long as he could remember. It was a little awkward at first, given how desperate both of them were, not to mention the fact that Eddie was the first person Richie had kissed since Steve and Richie was probably the first person Eddie had kissed since Myra, and Richie didn’t know  _ when _ the last time that was. However, they soon found a good rhythm and Richie took the opportunity to push Eddie’s coat off of him, letting out a small noise of relief and surprise when it let them really  _ feel  _ each other. He felt everything at once—Eddie’s lean body against his with his hands gripping Richie nearly hard enough to push shallow bruises into his skin, the demanding heartbeat in his chest and every other pulse in his body hammering along with it, the almost-surprisingly adamant swipe of Eddie’s tongue across his bottom lip, in his mouth, the way their noses brushed together whenever they shifted experimentally. He still couldn’t entirely believe it was  _ Eddie _ . He was kissing  _ Eddie _ . Richie hadn’t thought he could fall more in love, yet here he was, plummeting at a thousand miles a second right into Eddie’s heart all over again. He felt like he was in the opposite of the Deadlights. Hyper-conscious _. Alive.  _ They pulled apart only enough to breathe in fully, and Richie took the moment to look down at Eddie appreciatively before pulling away completely to take off his glasses and wipe his eyes. 

“Fuck, I was really trying not to cry here.” He said with a breathy laugh. He felt Eddie’s hands on his hips and put his glasses back on with a sniff, new tears nearly welling up when he saw the way Eddie was looking at him. 

“I love you too. I’m sorry. That I didn’t tell you about the Deadlights, I mean. I  just…you weren’t waking up and I didn’t know what to do and I remembered that it had worked with Ben and Bev so I figured I’d take the chance, but then when I realized I’d have to  _ tell  _ you…I was so afraid I’d fuck things up. So I left. Which probably fucked things up more than if I had told you the truth. I’m sorry I couldn’t handle it.” He said softly. Richie raised his eyebrows and couldn’t do anything but smile. 

“Say sorry one more time and you’re sleeping on the couch.” He dived into another kiss, pleased by Eddie’s small squeak of surprised gratification. Before they could fall back into the rhythm of actually making out (Richie was _making out_ with Eddie Kaspbrak! Kissing! With _tongue_!) Eddie pulled back like he suddenly realized something.

“I can…lemme…can I touch you m-more?” He asked, eyes wide. Richie laughed and pulled away to spread his arms out like a circus ring leader.

“I’m all yours, Eddie baby, what’ll it be?” He offered in a Vaudevillian accent with a grin, stomach swooping in the best possible way when Eddie blushed a fierce pink. 

“Um, can I, I’ll just—” Eddie stepped forward and ran his hands up Richie’s graphic-tee clad chest hungrily. Richie couldn’t suppress his smile as Eddie looked him over with wide eyes, running his hands over his shoulders and down his arms before intertwining their fingers. “Oh  _ God _ ,” he whispered, studying their hands together as his other came back up to rest on Richie’s chest. Richie wouldn’t deny that the kind of attention he was getting was making a particularly demanding warmth spread through his body. Just as hungry as Eddie, he moved in for another kiss, using his free hand to tease at Eddie’s well-fitting sweater, which he was probably wearing over a t-shirt. After testing the waters and finding that Eddie didn’t object to Richie’s touch, he ventured further to slide his hand up under the sweater, finding that there was in fact a t-shirt underneath. 

“‘S hot in here.” He muttered as he broke away to take the sweater off completely. Eddie didn’t protest, but did hold up a hand to stop Richie from diving into another passionate kiss after it was folded neatly and laid on the arm of the couch, taking a moment to look him up and down again. Richie found himself chuckling lightly. 

“Why the fuck are you…stop that! I…I like your chest, okay? Big whoop, dickhead, it’s a—it’s a nice chest, Richie, objectively! Stop laughing! I’ve loved you for like most of my life, I’m allowed to admire your damn chest, okay. A-and your big hands and your broad fucking shoulders, don’t make fun of me.” Eddie interjected sharply, only making Richie laugh harder. 

“Alright, I won’t Spaghetti. Even if I don’t necessarily understand it.” He said through teenager-ish giggles, slipping his arms around Eddie’s waist once more. Eddie looked up at him with that oh-so familiar annoyed fire in his eyes, eyebrows drawn. 

“Richie, I’m not going to waste my time and energy explaining to you why you’re hot, so just get used to it. You’re a sexy guy and it’s still kind of hard for me to believe that I actually get to kiss you—”

“While I’m conscious.”

“—and  _ touch _ you and I just—holy shit you’re Sleeping Beauty.” Eddie, Richie had  learned quickly into their friendship, was a master of interrupting himself. This particular instance made Richie laugh hard enough that by the time Eddie’s own laugh got through to his ears, he was nearly doubled over and gasping for breath. Richie loved Eddie’s laugh. Richie loved Eddie’s  _ everything _ , but his main goal in life had basically always been to make Eddie laugh, so it held a special place in his heart. “Oh my god, I love you.” Eddie said as he settled into another hug, still giggling slightly. “I  _ love _ you.” Richie held him tighter. 

“I love you too, Eds.” He breathed in slowly and shut his eyes, breathing in the fact that  he was here with Eddie, who was very much alive despite what his nightmares tried to convince him every damn night, and they were in  _ love _ . Together. Mutually. 

“I uh…about the sex thing…” Eddie pulled away sheepishly. Richie kept his hands on him, slipping one in the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans and placing the other gently on the side of his face. The smaller seemed to like this, if his blush and noticeable pupil dilation was any indication of his feelings. 

“Yeah?” Richie said lowly, purposely flirtatious just so he could see Eddie’s cheeks turn from pinkish to downright scarlet. 

“It’s…it’s definitely something I’ll want, you know, at some point. At least. I just don’t  know when, you know? There’s a lot of stuff that I don’t know much about and life is still kinda crazy and if I’m being honest I’m only just getting to be okay with…with  _ me _ . Me loving you. A guy. My best friend. I mean, all my plans just sort of got turned upside down and I don’t know what fuckin’ romance god-slash-horny ghost possessed me to just barrel right into things like that without even  _ talking  _ about it, I should’ve at least  _ warned  _ you or something, sorry, but the point is I might not be that… _ forward _ in the future. But I do want this. You. I just gotta get used to it first. And stop being scared of the fact that I get like insanely turned on by everything you do even though you’re the biggest dork I know. Is-is that okay with you?” He looked up at Richie with a hint of rare shyness, something he’d only displayed when they were kids just getting to know each other, and perhaps ever so slightly in those first awkward moments of the meeting at the Jade. Richie looked down at him softly, but couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Sorry, my whole brain was just taken over by the fact that _I_ turn _you_ on. Cannot compute, Captain.” He momentarily put on a spaceship-computer-ish voice. “I’m gonna need you to repeat some of that, handsome. Y’know, the important stuff.” He said with a grin, receiving a light swat on the arm that reminded him of their old childhood dynamic. Oh, if twelve/thirteen/fourteen/etc. year old Richie could see him now. “Eddie baby, we can take things as slow as you want. You wanna fuck, kiss, go out on the town and party it up, just say the word and I’m there. You wanna wait for a few months, a year, more, I’m cool with it. Just as long as I get to…as long as I get to be yours, I’m happy.” He said casually, nuzzling Eddie’s nose slightly with his own before placing an innocent kiss to his cheek. Eddie pulled away just enough to look up at him again, any trace of shyness gone from his eyes. 

“Thanks, Rich. I don’t know about ‘partying it up,’ I am a forty year old man who values his health and public image, but I… I think I’d like to take you up on that movie you suggested last time I was here, if you’re still up for it.” He said, chuckling lightly. Richie perked up with a smile. “Oh, got something in mind?” Eddie raised an eyebrow, smiling back. Richie couldn’t believe what was happening to him. He felt  _ good _ , like he had just woken up from the best night’s sleep of his life, but the amazing, perfect dream he'd been having didn’t stop. He felt beyond happy. 

“Have you ever seen The Truman Show?” Richie asked excitedly, already leading Eddie to the couch.

He had the sneaking suspicion that there wouldn’t be nightmares, the really bad kind, for a while now. He was pleased to find that he was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I’d love to hear your thoughts if you have any you want to share! Or if u wanna chat or something I have tumblr @thekingwiththerustythrone   
> Hope you have a lovely day (or night haha) :D


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